


when you're young, you run

by iconicponytail



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedsharing, F/M, Post-Graduation, Slow Burn, eventual Veronica/Toni, in which i slowly lose control with chapter length, liiiight smut, mental health/anixety/recovery themes, minor and limited Betty/Sweet Pea, past varchie breakup, the past is angsty but the present is bright, veronica and jughead are in cahoots, with flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconicponytail/pseuds/iconicponytail
Summary: Betty had decided to move on. To become her best self. To do all the trite shit you’re supposed to do when you go to college.She falls onto the bed next to Veronica. “It’s been four years. I can’t really expect anything from him. I just hope we can be close, like we used to be.”Betty can hear the smirk on Veronica’s face as she responds. “Betty, ‘Close like we used to be’ is the biggest euphemism I’ve ever heard. ‘Friends’ is the worst descriptor that you, one of the budding editorial forces of American journalism, could possibly use in this situation.”Or, after four years, Jughead is moving to New York.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the last day of June, the first sweltering hot day where eighty degrees crept to ninety before noon. Betty feels the trickles of her sweat running down her neck from her hairline and smells her own body odor, rather pungently. Unless the smell is Veronica, but the cost of making that claim isn’t worth pursuing.

Their new apartment, for all its Veronica Lodge approved charm and quality, has one drawback: no central air conditioning. Betty has learned that there are incongruities with Veronica’s wealth that take years of study and interpretation to make sense. For example, Veronica can afford to rent a beautiful two bedroom walk-up on the Upper East Side because in her mother’s eyes, it’s a necessity. However, paying movers for “two recently graduated college students with only enough to fill a dorm room” was an extravagance. 

Betty tries not to get involved with these distinctions because most of the time, she’s the one reaping the benefits. She never suspects or predicts Veronica’s generosity. But currently, Betty is convinced she’s living in a sauna, especially after moving Veronica’s entire shoe collection (and the contents of her own bookshelves) into the top floor of the walk up. How she fit all those in “just a college dorm room” was the mystery of the century.

“Is that everything?” she asks, mopping up as much of the damp from her brow as the sleeve of her t-shirt will absorb.

“We need to install the air conditioning unit, but it’s so heavy, I think I’m going to die,” Veronica whines, deliberately pouting in Kevin’s direction.

Kevin, just as sweat drenched as either of them, challenges Veronica with a defiantly stoic face. “If I do this right now, you are paying for my drinks for the next month,” he retorts. So few people have the confidence to stand up to Veronica, but Betty knew it was what Veronica secretly loved most about him. Veronica and Kevin had met in the Columbia University bookstore, squabbling over the last copy of the textbook for their political philosophy class. They ended up sharing the copy for the first week’s reading and becoming study partners thereafter. 

“I’ll help,” Toni mumbles, lifting herself up off the floor, where she had dramatically flopped several loads before the end. 

Betty and Veronica work to angle one of the couches haphazardly towards the window where Toni and Kevin begin shimmying their air conditioning unit into place. Veronica flops down and Betty follows suit.

She feels her phone buzz beneath her and ignores it. She has no interest in fielding texts from her mother about how moving day went or how the job hunt is going or yet another patronizing article about the power of diet, exercise, and positive thinking. 

Yet, it could be an email from her dreaded job hunt. Chances are low that she will even get an interview for any of the positions she actually wants. Eventually, Alice could summon her back to Riverdale to play out some hellish fate as a staff writer for the Register and go-to babysitter for Junie and Dag. You could paint the bedroom, couldn’t you? Dr. Lauder had asked, calmly inserting herself into one of Betty’s latest session rants about her childhood powder pink room. Betty had rolled her eyes. _Not if I wanted to continue living in it._

Still, it helped her stop the anxious spiral about not being gainfully employed sometime soon to think about paint shades: turquoise, peach, blue gray.

The other potential was him, finally texting her back after more or less standing them up that morning. Strangely, the thought of fielding this situation makes Betty much less anxious than anything remotely concerning her mother. Toni always reassures her that is a good thing. Relationships don’t need to cause you psychological turmoil.

Her phone buzzes again as Toni lets out a string of curses, which spikes Betty’s fear that they will drop the AC unit and kill a pedestrian, but she knows better than to interject. Veronica, with fewer reservations about irking Toni, springs from her place on the couch to hover.  
Betty fishes into the couch cushions and pulls out her phone, and finds herself both surprised and annoyed to see Sweet Pea’s name.

 _hey, sorry just woke up._  
_show last night went crazy late._  
_still need help moving??_

It’s 3PM. She knows he means well, he probably was up most of the night. And it’s not like he swore he would be here. It’s not like he’s her boyfriend. 

_No worries! We actually just finished up. Unless you are a pro at organizing shoes or installing AC units. Kevin and Toni are on the verge of killing an innocent pedestrian._

Just as Betty hits send, Kevin yells, “SHE’S IN!” Toni hooks up the power. The immediate rush of air hits Betty’s face and she forgets every ounce of frustration. She doesn’t look down at the phone again as it buzzes again. For a blissful minute, they all crowd around the flow. 

“You are my heroes,” Betty says in thanks to Kevin and Toni. “For everything today. But mostly for this.” 

Toni meets her with a tired and wistful half smile. This would be their first night not as roommates since freshman year. Betty and Toni had been skeptical about each other at first; Betty’s insecurities about not being cool enough for NYU made Toni seem terrifying. Toni’s first impression of Betty, she shared years later, was that she looked like a stuck up American Girl doll. But they’d grown to live in perfect symbiosis. Betty encouraged Toni from amatuer photographer to visual editor of the NYU student magazine. Toni dragged Betty to concerts and bar shows and shifted Betty’s wardrobe at least slightly away from pastel cardigans. 

Of course, Betty had wanted to live with Veronica since high school, but neither one had been willing to sacrifice their school commute while Betty was at NYU and Veronica at Columbia. Betty had almost pitched the idea of Toni living with them, but Veronica and Toni could be attached at the hip in some moments and barely speaking at others. Betty didn’t want to be the diffuser every minute of every day. 

“Of course, Betty,” Toni reaches down to squeeze her hand lightly. Betty mirrors Toni’s sad smile, but drops her hand and turns when she hears another buzz from the phone beside her.

_Ha, can’t say i’d be much help there. What u doing later?_

She perches on the couch and poises to reply, but she’s not sure what to say. 

The more she spends time with Sweet Pea, the more she sees him as someone she could be with. She finds it refreshing that he’s not necessarily nice, but he is kind. He gives her space when she needs it, and doesn’t press into her mental health unless she brings it up, and when she does, he’s never uncomfortable. Space also sometimes means that she initiates more, so she feels like she should tell him that she’s free. 

But even with the slow pace, she feels the weight building to define their relationship, and lately she can’t muster the energy to evaluate how she feels. There have been excuses: final papers, job applications, apartment searches, graduation parties, moving… 

Besides, Sweet Pea was definitely not putting any pressure on her about it. Not showing up to help a girl move? Hardly a sign that he was desperate to make things more intense or serious. 

She wants to know because she’s Betty Cooper. She’s never been a casual dating girl. 

Kevin interrupts her half-formed text by flopping down onto the seat next to her. “Listen V, I don’t mean to nag, but you did say you would compensate us with food.” 

“Kevin, I love you for all your help, but also, please don’t get sweat stains on my couch. I’m ordering pizza literally right now,” Veronica scolds. 

He rolls his eyes with patented Kevin Keller dramatic flair and whines, “Betty is sweaty, too.”

“Betty pays me rent,” Veronica retorts, and Kevin slides down off the sofa and onto the rug.

Betty doesn’t argue that she is only paying a very small fraction of her rent share, but as Veronica declared many times during their apartment search, “Elizabeth, I refuse to live below my means or without you. This way, I can have both.” 

Instead, she opens her mouth to demand at least one half with pepperoni when her phone buzzes again, this time repeatedly. She’s still undecided about seeing Sweet Pea tonight, so she reaches out to decline the call for now. 

Instead, the screen reads _Jughead Jones_. Her heart starts to hammer as if someone is demanding to be let out of her chest. She tries to open her mouth and excuse herself. The words “I’ve got to take this,” form in her mind but can’t make their way out of her mouth. Kevin requests supreme and Toni stays perched in front of the AC unit, so Betty slips down the hallway to her own room. Plopping down onto her mattress, she slides a trembling finger to answer.

“Hey Jug.” She sounds breathless and realizes she had been holding in air since she saw his name on the screen.

“Hey Betts,” he greets, and the sound of his voice is a time warp. 

She is sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and he is ordering her a vanilla milkshake with extra whipped cream and two cherries in the neon glow of their favorite booth at Pop’s. He is pitching her a story for the newspaper that, as usual, borders on conspiracy theory. 

“Uh, are you busy? I can call back.” 

He is soft and broken in the back of FP’s truck, in the trashed Sunnyside trailer kitchen, the ghost of his fingers on her arm, her neck, her thigh. He is always tapping on her bedroom window; she is always watching him drive away, just a blurry set of tail lights dipping out of sight. 

“No, not busy. Veronica and I just moved in together, but we are finished.” A thrum of nervous energy emboldens her to add, “At least, I hope we’re finished, because I can’t handle another box of shoes.” 

His laugh is just like she remembers, though she didn’t remember how it made her so lightheaded. 

“I can imagine. But, cohabitation, that’s a big step. What does Alice think?” 

She doesn’t know how to handle his casualness. As if he calls her every month, or every week. But her reply comes easily, like they’re sitting at their high school lunch table.

“I’m sure she’s picking out a housewarming gift as we speak. Probably some sage bundles.” 

His laughs softly, and she echoes it. She places a hand on her cheek as if to anchor herself. She feels light enough to float away. 

“So, uh, I called because I have news. I’m… also moving. To New York. Well, to the city.” 

If she was light before, now she’s hovering a foot off the ground. “You’re moving here? When?” She curses the temperature and her exhaustion and his damn voice for how little she is keeping her cool. 

“In about two weeks. Joaquin and I found a place in Brooklyn. He’s got this really cool job doing some kind of recording and sound editing and I’m… well, I’m not totally sure yet, but I’m looking into some writing fellowships.” The more he talks, the more nervous he sounds, like he’s not sure how much he should be sharing. 

“Jug, that’s great!” Her tone is too bright, almost hollow, and when he doesn’t respond right away, she knows that he heard it, too. “I’m excited, I’m just… I can’t believe this is happening.”

She can practically hear his shrug over the phone. “This was always the dream.” 

Betty’s fingers curl into her palms but her nails aren’t long enough to press in. She keeps them clipped short now. 

Her throat tightens, but she clears it enough to choke out, “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you soon.” She wishes her nails were long enough just to ensure that she wasn’t dreaming. 

“Maybe I should ask now if anything has changed. You haven’t dyed your hair or pierced your eyebrow, right?” 

He’s making a passive reference to when she chopped her hair to her chin a few years ago. She remembers his text: _I almost didn’t recognize you._ She had wanted to say _that was the point._ She had wanted to say _I’ve just wondered if I can change._ She doesn’t even remember what she actually said. Maybe nothing at all.

“No, god, imagine what Veronica would say to an eyebrow piercing. What about you? Has your hat fallen apart or anything?” 

“Nah. Still a weirdo. But I’ll see you soon. I’ll be in touch.”

“Bye Jug. I--” _I’ve missed you._ “I’ll text you.”

“See you soon, Betty.”

 

 

Flopping back on her mattress, she tries to imagine relaying the news. She’s not ready to announce it to the trio in the living room, who would demand far more emotional analysis of the situation than she was in any place to give. Plus, Kevin knew nothing of Jughead, and Toni’s knowledge was limited to some drunk babbling near the end of freshman year. Betty winces thinking about Toni rinsing vomit off her jumpsuit in their dorm bathrooms. Granted, she doesn’t even remember the scene herself, but has heard Toni drag it out enough times to her embarrassment. 

“Who’s Jughead?” Toni asks Betty the morning after the party, as she throws her a bottle of ibuprofen from the top of her suitcase. Toni is already packed for summer vacation; the party had been the magazine’s graduation party for all the graduating senior editors. 

Betty’s mouth gets drier, if even possible. She swigs from the glass of water Toni left at her bedside, swallowing the tablets. Toni perches on the edge of her bed with the amusement of a cocked eyebrow, but a gravity to her tone that tells Betty much was revealed.

“Sounds like I already told you.” Even if her stomach weren’t already turning and her head already throbbing, Betty thinks she still might feel sick.

“Not exactly. I was pulling you out of the shower and you said, ‘I love you. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re my girl jughead.’ Obviously, I was like, what the fuck is a jughead? But you said, that Jughead was a person. Or Jughead was your person. Then you mumbled a lot of things I couldn’t really understand and passed out as soon as we got here. By the way, I undressed you and put you in pajamas. I think your shorts are on backwards.”

Betty feels for the tag; she’s right. “I’m so, so sorry you had to do all that. I’m an idiot.”

“Well, you almost puked in the Uber, so it could have been worse. That shit is expensive. But don’t evade. I did some social media stalking, which was surprisingly overdue, and I’m guessing Jughead is the dark and broody one?”

There was never a reason to keep this part of herself from Toni. She trusted Toni, but she didn’t trust herself to have this conversation and then drive home to Riverdale in the next 36 hours and suffer through an entire summer of the emotions that would rise to the top.

So Betty starts, “You know that Veronica is my best friend. But she hasn’t always been in my life. My best friend growing up was my next door neighbor, Archie. And there was Jughead, we were like, the band of three musketeers. And Jughead was the only person who really... gets me. He could understand me better than anyone I’ve ever met. And even though you and I are so different, I feel that with you, too. You get me, Toni.”

Toni pulls Betty into a hug. “I love you, Betty. But what did any of that have to do with me cleaning vomit off you?”

“It’s something Veronica would never do, but Jughead would have,” Betty giggles softly, slipping into the rare indulgence of imagining how he would have held held her hair back. He would have carried her, mostly asleep, to her room. He wouldn’t have undressed her, but probably would have picked out some pajamas and turned around while she dressed, before tucking her into bed. He would have left the water and pills by her bed.

Toni’s lips curl into a soft smirk. “I hope I get to meet him someday.”

 

 

A fondness at the thought of Toni meeting Jughead softens her pounding heartbeat enough to stand and return to the living room.

But Toni isn’t there. Maybe she went to get pizza, Betty reasons. The room looks slightly tidier; the couch that Veronica and Kevin sit on, scrolling through their phones, has been straightened, and boxes lined against the wall. 

Hearing her, Veronica glances up from her phone with a probing look. Kevin asks, “Where the hell did you go?”

Betty fixes Veronica with a hard glare, silently willing her not to react, before sitting down next to Kevin and softening her face.

“Um, it was Jughead.” 

Veronica’s eyes widen but she only glances up at Betty from her phone, tensed. 

“What is Jughead? Is that one of the literary magazines you applied to?” Kevin asks.

“No, just an old friend.” Betty manages as casually as she can, but her pulse is skyrocketing again.

“Mmmmm, ‘friend’ as in flame?” 

God, Kevin, unable to drop anything. Not ten minutes after Betty had first met Kevin, he’d demanded to hear her romantic history. When she hadn’t given him anything, he’d begun assuming that every man in her past life was an ex until Archie attended Veronica’s New Year’s party last year. Kevin had greeted him with, “You must be the heartbreaker that Betty won’t tell me about.” Archie had furrowed his brows in patented Archie confusion and responded with all too much earnestness, “Really? That was a long time ago. And if we’re getting technical, Veronica broke up with me.” Kevin was so stressed from the fumble that he and Toni spent the rest of the party high in Veronica’s bathroom. 

“Just a friend. He’s uh, moving to New York actually, so you’ll get to meet him.” 

Veronica abruptly stands and leaves the room. “Just going to go find our plates. For the pizza.” 

Betty knows this is a cue to follow, but she waits to make her exit less obvious. 

After another beat, Kevin asks, “What the hell kind of name is Jughead?” 

Betty rolls her eyes and chooses the lesser of the current evils. “I’m going to help Veronica.” She marches into the kitchen, where Veronica is perched against the counter, opening a bag of tortilla chips, not even feigning a hunt for plates.

Kevin calls from the living room, “Y’all think you’re cute because you’re best friends and have known each other for a long ass time but I am born and bred to smell boy drama!”

Veronica, with the volume of a whisper but the forcefulness reminiscent of her student council days hisses, “We don’t have time to unpack this right now but B… Oh my GOD.”

Betty can’t help but let her reserve collapse, thankful for her best friend’s knowledge of her life, the lack of explanation necessary. “V… I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.”

Kevin calls from the living room again, “Is Jughead spelled like it sounds? Damn, this boy doesn’t even have a Facebook?” They both grin despite themselves. The idea of Kevin and Jughead actually meeting already seems like a comedy routine. 

The front door swings open and Toni calls, “Pizza’s here!”

They temporarily abandon their plates and conversation. 

 

 

After collapsing into coma-like sleep once Kevin and Toni depart, Betty and Veronica don’t speak about Jughead again. Rousing mid-morning, Betty tries for twenty minutes to reassemble Veronica’s mammoth espresso machine when Veronica enters, bearing coffees from down the street. “God, I really don’t want to unpack all this.”

“Where are we even going to put it all?” Betty abandons the spread of confusing parts and the poorly translated Italian manual for an iced Americano. 

“My mom agreed to put in a big order with her designer friend as a graduation gift, which should cover the rest of the furnishings for the living and dining room.”

Betty wonders why movers couldn’t have been part of the graduation gift, but she isn’t about to turn down designer furniture. So instead, she says, “V, I cannot possibly be more indebted to you and your mom.”

“It’s not a debt, Betty. You’re basically a member of the Lodge Ladies. What about your room? Anything you need? I’m down to do an IKEA run…” 

Betty thinks of the graduation check her dad slipped her during their post-commencement dinner. She’d been saving it in case her pending job applications fell through. But she did desperately need a cheap bed frame and dresser, and she didn’t need to spend all of it.

“That’s all the way in Brooklyn, Ron, how are we gonna lug all those boxes back here?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Betty, honestly, what to you think Hermione has a staff for? I’ll see if we can borrow Smithers! After all, the sooner we get our house settled, the sooner we can throw a raging housewarming party!” 

Veronica dials her mom while Betty leans back against the counter and enjoys her coffee, thankful for a little more distraction before their inevitable conversation about Jughead’s news. 

The night before, as Kevin, Toni, and Veronica bantered about the latest season of Real Housewives, Betty disappeared into thoughts she’d been shoving as far back as her heart could handle for the last four years. She scrolled through their old messages; a litany of Happy Birthdays, Merry Christmas’, Happy New Years, and mostly from Jughead’s end, a variety of literary jokes or memes he knew she would appreciate. She had sent him a photo of the twins on their fourth birthday. He’d sent her a picture of FP getting his 3 year sobriety coin. 

Two years ago, over winter break, he’d sent: Any chance you’re in Riverdale? Spending a couple days with Archie and Fred. Wanna hit up Pop’s? 

Her reply: Doing Christmas in Mexico with V and Hermione... My parents just filed for divorce so Riverdale didn’t feel like the right place to spend the holidays. I’m really sad we missed each other. Give Archie and Fred my best xo.

She could remember getting the text, already conflicted about her holiday plans. She had been so grateful to Veronica for the invitation; a beach Christmas sounded so entirely different from their usual snow-blanketed upstate New York holiday that maybe she could forget that the Cooper family Christmas would never be the same. 

It was a classic Veronica move; something she herself had done when her parents had divorced; a cabin getaway weekend, just the girls. But Hiram and Hermione’s divorce had been a decidedly positive event in the Lodge women’s lives, an emancipation from their years of devotion to an embezzler and liar. Hermione had become a flourishing investor independently, earning a profile on “The Women of Wall Street” five years in a row.

Even with the impending distraction of the Lodges’ lavish beachside home, Betty knew it was a charade to keep her mind off her family. She’d gotten Jughead’s text while they checked in at JFK and allowed herself, for the first time in years, to long for him. Her heart ached at the thought of tucking into a booth with Jughead and pouring her stress out over milkshakes and chili fries and endless cups of coffee. Betty closed her eyes and pictured Jughead reaching for her hand over the table. Reminding her that he watched his family splinter apart, too. Reminding her that he never needed grand gestures or elaborate schemes to show how much he knew her, how much he cared. She first typed: I wish I was there more than anything. She erased it. Explained the situation. I’m really sad. I really miss you. Erased again. I’m really sad we missed each other.

She sent the message, still simmering in the emotions that she usually stops up in the dam of her heart. I’m really sad we keep missing each other.

“Alright,” Veronica returns to the kitchen, interrupting Betty’s reverie. “Smithers is coming in twenty, and though Betty Cooper pajamas are second to none, you might want to change before he gets here.”

 

 

They are deep into the maze of IKEA bedroom sets before Veronica blurts, “Alright B, I know the J-word is a big time fiasco to get into, but you gotta tell me what you’re thinking. I’ve been trying to hold off but I’m dying here. What did he say? What did you say?” 

Betty, less comfortable with having such a personal conversation while another couple was looking at the same bedroom set, fiddles with the tag hanging off of the dresser. Probably because Betty’s facial expressions are Veronica’s third language, she shoots the couple a withering look and announces, “Honey, I don’t think this bed seems sturdy enough for our voracious lovemaking.” Veronica bounces onto the display bed. 

Betty shakes with silent laughter as the couple sends each other glances of panic and steer themselves towards the next display. “You’re never one for subtlety, V.” She continues to stand back, drumming her fingers on the tag she’s been holding.

“Betty. The dresser is $175. Stop fidgeting and give me the damage. I know you’ve got an emotional play by play of the situation so let’s hear it.” Veronica crosses her legs and perks up with her most serious prep school posture.

Betty rolls her eyes but bites down a grateful smile. She drops the tag, but moves to nervously fiddle with the the fringed throw pillows. “He was so normal. He joked about you and I moving in together, how my mom still can’t stand you, the usual. And then he just told me he’s moving here, like I should have been ready for it.”

Veronica’s eyebrows twitch, confused. “Should you have been ready for it? You two haven’t physically seen each other since we graduated.”

“That was the weird part. I was freaking out, could hardly breathe, and yet it felt like no time has passed and it’s the last week of school and he’s telling me… god, you know. It’s not like I never imagined this could happen, but I also stopped believing it would. And now that it is… I don’t know. It’s pretty overwhelming.”

Veronica lets the silence settle, waiting patiently for everything still unsaid.

“I’ve missed him, our friendship, so much. I think I’m excited to have that back, I’m just scared of everything else.” 

Veronica taps the spot next to her on the bed. “Betty, we haven’t talked about Jughead for years. I’m not sure I know what ‘everything else’ means anymore.”

Betty knows that Veronica isn’t trying to be frustrating. All of the anxiety mounting in her chest since the phone call wants to come screaming out, but Veronica was right. They haven’t talked about Jug in a long time, there was too much to unpack all at once. Betty had decided to move on. To become her best self. To do all the trite shit you’re supposed to do when you go to college.

She falls onto the bed next to Veronica. “I don’t know what it means anymore either. It’s been four years. I can’t really expect anything from him. I just hope we can be close, like we used to be.”

Betty can hear the smirk on Veronica’s face as she responds. “Betty, ‘Close like we used to be’ is the biggest euphemism I’ve ever heard. ‘Friends’ is the worst descriptor that you, one of the budding editorial forces of American journalism, could possibly use in this situation.”

“Okay, sure. But I’ve moved on, too. I mean, there’s Sweet Pea. We’ve been in this will-they-or-won’t-they limbo for months.”

Veronica sighs, and Betty braces for the speech she knows is coming. “You and Jughead have been in a weird will-they-or-won’t they limbo since we were sixteen. And no shade to Sweets, but three months is way too long for someone to decide they want Betty Cooper to be a permanent fixture in their life. I knew it after you gave me a fifteen minute tour of Riverdale High. I don’t know how quickly Jughead knew it, but by the time I came onto the scene, he was ten years ahead of me. So, I’m biased. And I have very patiently reserved judgement on Sweet Pea, but let’s be honest, B. He’s basically a poor man’s Jughead. His nickname isn’t even as iconic.”

Betty stifles a laugh. It’s not like she never noticed the physical similarities. But Sweets was also distinctly not Jughead. “Oh come on. He is not. Sweet Pea hasn’t seen more than ten movies in his life, much less argues insufferably about why Pulp Fiction is the best film of all time. He’s also taller, more sociable, and in a band.” 

Unimpressed, Veronica plows on. “We both know that you are not more attracted to Sweet Pea than Jughead, and if we are talking talent and common interests, need I remind you about the time I had a Bachelor viewing party and you and Jughead decamped to the library, where we all thought you were finally hooking up and instead had just been discussing the best true crime podcasts and imagining, all too delightedly, if there were a gruesome murder in Riverdale?” 

Betty isn’t even sure she believes the words flying out of her mouth. It’s mostly that Veronica knew exactly how to hit her, in the center of a sacred, happy moment. 

“We’re not the same people as we were in high school, Ron. I’ve changed. Sweets is someone I met in my new life who knows this Betty Cooper. I’m not little miss Xanax or the girl who had a panic attack after her valedictorian speech.”

Veronica throws her arms down with a soft smack against the mattress and lifts herself off the bed. Betty knows this means the bullshit meter has broken. “Betty, don’t throw Xanax under the bus, that bitch has been good to you. But more importantly, do I need to remind you what you said to me after homecoming, at Pop’s?”

Betty turns her face into the pillow and mumbles. Veronica reaches over and lifts the pillow off her face. “What was that?”

“I said, you saw what I didn’t.”

“Actually,” Veronica corrects, reaching down to help Betty to her feet, “you said ‘V, I’m an idiot. Thank you for seeing what I couldn’t see. Now, are we buying this bed or what?”

 

________________________________

 

**Homecoming, Sophomore Year**

 

There is a crease in Betty’s forehead that she gets while editing his articles. Usually, Jughead makes background objections to her comma splices and groans as she slashes his adverbs, but he’s so delighted by the concentration dimple that he doesn’t interject. Perhaps this is why, when Veronica Lodge’s heels announce her entrance into the Blue and Gold office, Jughead snaps up, trying to look like he was doing something more productive than gazing at Betty Cooper. Luckily, pretending that he hadn’t just been staring at Betty is a act he’s well versed in; he’d done the same thing twice when he’d been called on in Chemistry that morning. 

“Hello, future journalists of America. Betty, are you in the trenches? Cheryl decided we need to have an emergency homecoming committee meeting right… well, now.” 

Jughead wonders if school dances exist purely to drag Betty away from the few sacred, uninterrupted time slots he gets with her. 

Betty looks up, clearly a overwhelmed by the news. “What? I can’t come now! We have an issue coming out tomorrow!” 

Jughead’s not sure why she is suddenly stressed, when ten minutes ago they were gleefully launching old scraps of notepaper across the room at one another like a snowless snowball fight. He looks down to his laptop, and as an excuse to ignore Veronica, starts piecing together the layout. He didn’t mean to put them in a time crunch. He’d just been thinking about how tight her shoulders had been when she walked into Chem that morning and wanted to make her laugh. 

“Whoa, B, it’s fine! I’ll cover for you. Whatever last minute overhaul the witch wants, I’ll keep us working together.” Betty nods and returns to skimming his article. Veronica continues, “I don’t mean to stress you out, but could we talk outside for a second?” 

Betty says, “Fine V, just give me one minute.”

“I actually wanted to talk to Jughead.” 

Jughead and Betty look at her with the same furrowed-brow confusion. Ever awaiting the approval of Betty (as his editor, of course), he gets up only once she shrugs. 

“Yeah, uh, okay.” He follows Veronica out of the office, perplexed. 

She closes the door behind them. “So, Archie asked me to homecoming. And I said yes.”

“Okay…” He’s still not sure why this warrants a private audience. “Are you worried that Betty’s still hung up on Archie? It’s been like, almost two months and she seems fine to me. Honestly, she’s probably going to be happy that at least he’s not in a super inappropriate relationship with his music teacher anymore.” 

Granted, maybe Jughead just wanted Betty to seem fine. It seemed almost too good to be true that Betty’s Archie spell had been broken, but he was all too ready to believe it.

“Don’t joke about the Grundy debacle, Jones. My point is that no one likes to be a third wheel and…” Veronica’s tone turns to an unfamiliar pleading. “I was wondering if you would ask Betty to homecoming?”

He emits an involuntary bark of laughter. Veronica, misunderstanding his reaction, launches into her talking points. “Listen, I know you and Betty are ‘just friends,’ and I’m not saying you need to get married and have three children. I also get the vibe that you’re not really a school dance guy but I figured with Betty at least you two can sit back and do your little banter thing where you make fun of the rest of us. But mostly, I think it will make Betty feel less awkward again, after what happened at the Back to School dance.”

Jughead nods respectfully through each of Veronica’s points. Really, he’d laughed because after all the build up, he thought she was going to ask him something taxing and difficult. Granted, he wasn’t a school dance guy. The first and last dance he’d ever gone to was a middle school mixer, where he and Archie had spent the entire time running away from Ethel, who was trying to kiss him. But for Betty? He’s probably go to the DMV with her if she asked. The problem would only be that now he would have to do the asking.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Veronica’s eyes brighten immediately. “Really? Oh my gosh, thank you Jughead! Wait--” She pauses, focusing on him with the discerning eye that he’s come to associate with Veronica. “Oh my God. Jughead Jones, you like our Betty Cooper!” 

“What?” His tone is overly incredulous. Fuck. “That’s not what I said.” _Fuck._

“I knew it!” Veronica exclaims, stabbing him in the sternum with her deep red manicure. “Mr. Palmer called on you in Chemistry this morning and you were just staring at her with these heartsick puppy eyes! Jughead Jones, you are a soft little cookie for Betty Cooper!”

So much for well practiced gazing. A soft little cookie? Humiliating. How many people were watching him pine across the classroom? Had Betty noticed?

Jughead grabs her upper arm and puts a finger to his mouth, glancing around them to check if any students were in the hall. “Please, Veronica.”

She presses a single finger to her own devious, knowing smile, remembering that they are still only a door away from Betty. “I won’t say anything else. But if you will really do it, I think it could be good for all of us. Especially Betty.”

Maybe it’s because Veronica has beaten down his emotional barriers in a matter of minutes, but Jughead knows he won’t get this empathetic of an audience from anyone else on the subject.

“I’m not even sure she’ll want to go with me. We’re just friends.”

Veronica’s expression softens, taking pity on the complete mush of his Betty Cooper owned heart. 

“Jughead, you and I both know that Betty will do anything for her friends. I think she needs to see that you don’t have to be just her friend. You should walk right back in there and ask. Don’t wait. Just do it.” With that, Veronica opens the door to the Blue and Gold and pivots to walk down the hallway.

 

 

Jughead doesn’t ask right away. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s asking because he was obviously prompted by Veronica. Instead, when Betty asks what Veronica wanted, he breaks the news about Archie asking Veronica to homecoming. He tells Betty that she wanted to know what color ties Archie has so she can coordinate her dress. He has no idea where this lie comes from, he is only relieved that Betty at least seems to buy it, or perhaps is too distracted by the newspaper to investigate his honesty. They finish the edits to the paper and in their new publication night tradition, they head to Pop’s for dinner. 

She didn’t seem bothered by Archie and Veronica going to homecoming, but she’s quieter than normal as they order their usuals. Most nights, he can barely get a word in edgewise with her, especially on publication day when she is bubbling over, speculating about what kind of response they’ll receive on the latest issue of the Blue and Gold. He notices that she’s biting her bottom lip more than usual. 

“You alright, Betts?” He reaches out and touches her arm, not tenderly, just concerned. The gesture feels more charged than usual, and he blames Veronica. 

“Yeah, sorry Jug. I’ve been a little off all day. Polly has been avoiding me at school and has barely been around at home this week and… anyway, it’s nothing.” She looks down at her arm, where his hand hovers nearby. She doesn’t make eye contact, which means she’s definitely not fine but doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“What do you think about homecoming?” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he practically winces. So smooth, Jones. The diner suddenly feels unbearably hot. He wants to take his hat off but god knows what his hair would look like. 

Betty laughs at his expression and raises her eyebrows with amusement and wariness. “Well, it’s a long-standing ritual, wherein there is a football game, which I am not really looking forward to because I’m behind on the River Vixens choreography so Cheryl is going to chew me out and stick me in the back, probably.” 

Jughead fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers for something to do with his hands. Breathe, dude. Clear your throat. Think about all of the syllables before you say them. “What about the dance part?”

He can’t read her expression because his vision feels a little blurry and he thinks his heart is beating so loudly that she can hear it too. He needs to just do it. Just ask. “What I mean is, do you want to go? With me?” 

Any trace of tension or anxiety left in Betty’s expression melts. Her green eyes study him in a way he’s never been looked at before, and her lips are already forming her answer. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

 

 

In the week leading up to Homecoming, very little changes, but the volume of Jughead’s daily life feels like it got turned up to twice its’ usual level. Colors are more saturated and vibrant, like the turquoise of Betty’s sweater on Monday. Lunches outside on the lawn are particularly sunny, and Veronica’s eyes shine as she looks from Jughead to Betty. He shares his chips with Betty, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but he feels her smile travel all the way down to his toes. When they pitch their story ideas for the homecoming edition of the Blue and Gold, their debate over topics gets so animated that the detention monitor pokes his head in to ask them to lower their voices. During their Chemistry Lab on Wednesday, Betty breaks a test tube in her hand and cuts her palm. He helps her wash and dress the wound, and what were once just their regular hands, hands that had helped each other climb into Archie’s tree house or swatted his arm when he teased her a little too hard, apparently had nerve endings Jughead had been suppressing for years. He looks up after securing the bandage and Betty’s green eyes gaze back with an intensity that makes him temporarily forget to breathe. He thinks maybe Betty holds her breath, too. On Thursday, she comes by the Blue and Gold office in her cheer uniform, claiming to look for something, but as she leaves empty handed, she twirls her ponytail and smiles in a way that makes him wonder. Either way, he doesn’t get any more writing done. Instead, that night he goes to the football game for the first time since the very beginning of the year when he went to make up with Archie. Cheryl does place her in the back, but she is no less magnificent to him. 

Friday comes, and he gets ready after school with Archie. Jughead has been staying over at the Andrews house frequently since his mom and Jellybean left in July. His dad has been drinking again, and after the night Fred ran into FP in late August, drunk at the grocery store, Jughead had more often than not been opting for the air mattress on Archie’s bedroom floor than returning to their trailer that was either empty and trashed or home to the whiskey-sweat, video game goblin version of his father. It was better than his alternative, a sleeping bag in the projector room of the Twilight.

Jughead wears his only suit coat and a dark shirt. Archie tries multiple times to get him to take his beanie off, but he only manages to bargain Jughead into wearing a tie. Archie finally gets up the courage to ask, “You and Betty, huh?” 

_You and Betty?_ He relishes the question, the idea that this evening is something more than two friends trying to make a social obligation more bearable. He straightens the tie and lets the smallest of smug smiles settle on his face, remembering how she hadn’t hesitated with her answer. Remembering the four times that week that he’d stolen glances at her and found her already looking at him.

“Jug, seriously, are you blushing?” Archie’s eyes are lit with a devilish fire, and he leans over to pluck the beanie off his head.

He ducks out of Archie’s grasp and is saved by the chime of the doorbell. Archie releases Jughead in order to run his fingers through his hair and few more times. He tries to move at a reasonable pace downstairs, but he almost trips over his feet halfway down because he’s practically jogging.

He opens the door to Betty as his stomach does an entire Olympic tumbling routine. Betty looks like a princess from one of Jellybean’s picture books, blonde hair soft and pinned back on one side, an icy blue dress that shimmers in the porch light, and the most beautiful collar bones he’s ever seen. He suddenly remembers their technical name he’d forgotten last year on their biology final; clavicle. Neither of them say anything, but he must be smiling like an idiot, because she smiles back, and Jughead’s heart thunders with equal parts fear and elation.

They walk the few blocks to school, and she links her arm in his the whole way. He’s not sure if they’ve even spoken to each other. He’s not sure his feet are touching the ground. The first sentence that registers all night is Cheryl, taking their tickets and saying, “Betty, I never knew you were this desperate.” Betty’s voice drops an octave to say, “Cheryl, I’m surprised to see you working the ticket table. Did Satan stand you up?” As they enter the gym, his hand reaches down to grasp hers and her fingers automatically slide between his. An electric current shivers down his arm and ends somewhere in the pit of his stomach. 

They talk to Polly and Jason, to Archie and Veronica, to Moose and Midge. When they are finally alone on the edges of the dance floor, Betty breaks the silence.

“So what kind of coverage do you think we need for the paper?” she smirks; he knows she’s joking, trying to relieve the tension. 

“Hmm, what about ‘Reporting Team Discovers They Prefer Researching True Crime Over High School Ritual Awkwardness’?”

“Or ‘Reggie Mantle Predictably Spikes Punch; Drinks Most of it Himself?”

“Election Tampering Suspected at Cheryl Blossom’s Homecoming Queen Ballot Box!”

They are both laughing, relieved that even in the dim lighting and dressed up clothes, they are still the same. 

The music shifts to a song he vaguely recognizes. Betty boldly steps forward, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist. 

“What about ‘Your Editors Grace the Dance Floor With Their Presence?”

Jughead slips his arms around her as well, surprised at the sudden ease between them and flying on sky rocketing levels of adrenaline. “I think ‘grace’ might be too strong of a word, but we can talk about it in revision.”

As Betty leads them closer to the center of the floor, Jughead has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into. Mercifully, Betty sets one of his arms on her shoulder, wraps an arm around his back, and reclasps their hands. 

He’s not sure how long they dance, but he feels her head rest against him and thinks again; _clavicle_. 

 

 

At some point, they leave and head to Pop’s with Archie and Veronica, but for the first time in his life, he has no memory of what they eat, only the warm feeling of Betty tucked into his side. When he slides his hand to rest at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, Archie’s eyebrows almost fly off his face. Jughead knows he may endure a lifetime of teasing from Archie, but he also knows that he is now addicted to her skin under his hands and he’ll pay for it however he needs to. 

While she and Veronica whisper, he stares at the dregs of her milkshake and wonders if she tastes like vanilla.

The moment of that night that he remembers with utmost clarity is on Betty’s doorstep, when she hugs him tightly and murmurs in his ear, “Thank you for going with me, Juggie.” It is when she pulls back and they stand with their foreheads resting against each others, and Jughead savors the moment when he knows he is about to kiss Betty Cooper for the first time. 

It is the moment when fate tears their bodies apart, when Alice Cooper opens the door, her face tear-stained and panicked. 

It is the words, “Polly and Jason. There’s been an accident. It was FP. Jughead, it’s your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i would be deeply grateful your thoughts/validation in the form of a comment if you have time!
> 
> i have been working on this story for a long time and agonizing over whether i was actually going to bite the bullet and publish it, but i am a rough few chapters in and excited to set it free.
> 
> the title is from 'this love' by tswift, but the ~vibes are from the ryan adams cover. listen, both of them are problematic af but the point here is that the song is the mood.
> 
> also, i juuuust created a riverdale blog on tumblr so as to avoid people still following me from high school (yikes) finding this, so come find me at @iconic-ponytail


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take note of new tags! specifically, there is some narration of an anxiety attack in the last scene. 
> 
> enjoy!

Jughead hunches over his laptop, his third cup of black coffee at his right hand. His fingers don’t stop moving as he types, a rare stroke of complete immersion into his writing. It feels like the conduit from his brain to his heart to his finger that could run all night. The humid air blowing in through the front door as customers come and go, ripe with anticipation and energy within the gloom. 

The cafe is small and not overbearingly trendy; the tables wobble just a little and the dishes are extra heavy, diner grade porcelain. He spotted it around the corner from the new apartment on one of his evening walks, his latest distraction tactic for quitting cigarettes. He considered jogging, even, but wasn’t sure he could take Joaquin’s teasing about becoming someone who exercises.

The walks spurred on some of his latest project inspiration, too. Even though he had plenty of samples to send for the jobs and internships he was applying to, when he reviewed the the phrases collided sloppily, the tone was either overbearing or absent, and thematically both stale and collegiate. Too many adverbs, semicolons, fragments and run-ons. Maybe, after the proverbial silence between him and Betty had been lifted, he had been able to let her voice back into his head. At first, after everything, he tuned out the commentary he memorized, not letting it prevent him from writing. But she was always his first and favorite critic, and he wouldn’t deny that a certain electricity bloomed from the fact that she was due to walk through the cafe’s doors in 15 minutes.

 

 

FP had insisted on taking Jughead and Jellybean to dinner after his graduation, despite Jughead’s assurances that it wasn’t necessary. The restaurant wasn’t the nicest place in town by any means. There were no cloth table coverings or napkins, but Jughead could tell it was a bigger deal to his dad than to him. Gladys was neither invited nor excluded, but chose not to show up to dinner after the ceremony. 

Their host seated them, asking the innoucous question, “Are we celebrating tonight?” After that, FP launched into the details of Jughead’s commencement ceremony with every staff member to stop at the table. JB threw Jughead sympathetic looks every time FP burst with sweet but overbearing statements of pride. 

JB had tried to change the subject. “So, are you applying to jobs here? Or are you trying to back to Riverdale?” Jughead had not anticipated sharing his plans just yet, but his dad also seemed in as good of a mood as he would ever be. 

“Um, actually, I’ve been thinking about, I mean, I’ve decided to take a swing at finding work in New York. Joaquin has a lot of job leads there, and it’s what I dreamed about since I was in high school.” He didn’t look up from his plate of pasta until he finished his announcement, his anxiety evident in his voice. JB looked back and forth between him and their dad. FP took a very long sip of his diet soda.

“Jug,” FP started in his ‘careful, boy’ tone. “I will never be able to stop saying how proud I am of you, kid. I have no doubt that you’re gonna go out and publish that novel or write stories or whatever else you decide it is that you want to do. But if you’re gonna go to New York… you’ve got to have more of a plan that that.” His dad folded his hands together, a gesture Jughead knew as a nervous reflex whenever FP was holding back from something. His dad twirled the wedding ring he still wears, even after the divorce, something Jughead felt he never, and yet completely, understood. But instead of continuing, FP excused himself.

“That was weird,” JB blurted as soon as their dad was out of earshot. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to rail into you on your big night.”

“His big night, really,” he corrected.

“He doesn’t know what it’s like to want something like you do, Jug.”

Jughead wasn’t sure he agreed. JB hadn’t watched their dad get sober. FP had been putting one foot in front of the other with such determination for almost five years. But then, there too was the problem. For his dad, life was mostly about one foot in front of the other, afraid that something would creep up to catch him off guard. 

Jughead had been thinking years ahead to this moment. He was finally over the ‘what-if’s. What if his dad had drunk just one more beer and just passed out that night? What if Jughead had decided it wasn’t his responsibility? What if he had fought a little harder from the beginning to get his dad help instead of punishment?

The what-ifs didn’t matter now that he was actually in New York: three cups in and twelve pages deep, head shooting up every time the door opened, scanning for her ponytail. 

His dad should have known all along that she was the only plan.

 

 

When she’s ten minutes late, he gets a text.

_Jug, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t say anything because I have been so nervous._  
_I’m at a job interview and they had to push my interview back a whole hour and_  
_I’m not going to make it out to you before I need to get home and help Veronica._

He steels his stomach for the punch of disappointment and tries to focus on her news and his genuine happiness for her. He types a congratulatory response with an aggressive amount of exclamation points, as if it will help deflect the blow of her standing him up, even if it obviously was not intended. He asks where the interview is and she responds:

_I don’t want to jinx it._

_You’re so superstitious. But you can tell me when they give you the job._

He wonders for a split second if she doesn’t tell him because she thinks he might be jealous. He did mention in his texts the week before that he was still writing, hoping for something with a literary bent, though he would be willing to take anything. It wasn’t like he was coming in under-credentialed, but he also hadn’t been the editor-in-chief of NYU’s student run arts and culture magazine like Betty, either. 

Another text comes in:

_I know it’s not ideal, so feel free to say no: V and I are having a housewarming party tonight, and I would love if you came._  
_I know I haven’t seen you yet, so an overwhelming context of everyone I know in New York might be too much, but knowing Veronica… it should be fun._

Imagining himself at their party, seeing Betty for the first time in four years, but mostly abandoned by her obligation to her other guests floods him with anxiety. At the same time, he won’t have to wait any longer to see her. It could help take the tension out to have distractions. Hands to shake. Drinks to hold. Veronica to hide from. If he’s being honest with himself, “I would love if you came” would be enough to get him through the hour long train ride to their apartment. 

Jughead squashes his hesitancy and begins to reply but suddenly, his phone buzzes and the screen is replaced with Veronica Lodge’s senior year cheerleading photo, which he can only assume has been laying dormant for years, programmed by the devil herself.

“Veronica Lodge,” he answers, mentally estimating the depth of the rabbit hole he’s entered by answering.

“Jughead! You do still have my number.” Her voice still holds a special brand of deviance reserved for him alone. He would never admit it to her, but Jughead’s love for Veronica calls up something brotherly in him. Even when she annoys him, they share a potent loyalty towards the closest people in their lives. 

“Of course, how else would I get bailed out of jail someday?” 

“Well, you haven’t talked to me in years, so who’s to say I would use Mommy’s hard earned money for a mere acquaintance?” 

He smirks. “You’re right. I’d ask Archie or Betty and they would both probably come to you for me.”

She sighs, defeated. “Too true, Jones. See, the good news about your absence from my life is that no one goes toe to toe with me like you. The downside is that it’s made me insufferable and self righteous.” 

“Is that why you called? Because you know I can’t actually win against you, Veronica.” He’s not sure if he says this to flatter her or to make her get to the point. 

“Right, I called to demand that you come to our housewarming tonight.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there, Betty just invited me.” 

“Good.” She pauses long enough to make Jughead uneasy. Veronica wouldn’t make a phone call just to confirm an RSVP. “The second reason I called is that I didn’t want you to be blindsided. I doubt Betty already told you, so I felt the need to warn you. Betty has been…” Veronica trails off, a move that Jughead once thought was strategic, but often hints at an underlying nervousness. “Betty’s kind of seeing someone. It’s not official, nor is it intimate-” 

Jughead cringes at her word choice even more than its implications. “But he will be there.”

When Veronica doesn’t say anything more, he realizes this is part of some kind of standard Veronica Lodge assessment. He’s not sure how to appropriately react in his own head, much less to Veronica. He wants to shove the entire situation aside like an objective curiosity for later study. 

“Thanks for telling me, I suppose,” He starts to fiddle with his empty coffee cup with his free hand, sloshing the dregs to maintain the O shaped stain at the bottom. 

“You’re welcome,” she sighs, and he knows she is unsatisfied with his response. He resists the questions queuing as he looks around the cafe, seeking small details to distract his snowballing curiosity with a change of topic or excuse to hang up. 

He can’t put all his cards on the table right now, to Veronica Lodge of all people, but every second of silence wears him down. He hears himself before he really knows what he’s asking. “How long has she been not-dating him?” His voice is laden with something just slightly too sour to be convincingly casual. So much for a closed hand. 

“Three months. It’s been a drawn out situation. Neither of them seems convinced the other one wants it enough to really commit to the relationship.” 

Jughead is not a fool to the devices of Veronica Lodge. This is not about the party, or some guy, but a hint that Veronica is not particularly excited about the current state of affairs in Betty’s life. Also, _three months_? 

“This guy is wishy washy about Betty after three entire months?” he asks, no longer masking his voice with false neutrality. For all her manipulations, Jughead has always been relieved by the candor Veronica inspires. People assume she gets all the information she wants by force, but she’s truly empathetic. Calculated, but empathetic.

Veronica scoffs, “Exactly. I told her I knew less than fifteen minutes after we met that I wanted her in my life permanently. How long did it take you?”

Jughead feels himself flush. “One does not have a great awareness of time at six years old.”

“Yeah. I know.” Veronica’s voice softens. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, Jug. It’s been entirely too long.”

 

 

Jughead spends forty minutes rifling through the mass of his still-packed clothes. He’s worn a uniform almost his entire life out of convenience and aesthetic, but also as armor against judgment for growing up poor. Fewer people comment on always wearing the same things if you lean into it, and thrift store clothing always lent itself to the grunge look. Even in the years of transition, he held onto his clothes out of comfort and continuity, no matter which parent he followed. 

At the bottom of the suitcase, he finds the green sweater Joaquin gave him last Christmas. FP had been working, and Gladys did not extend an invite despite the hints he dropped to JB over the phone. He came home from his morning shift at the public library to find Joaquin with mountains of take out, a selection of video games, and a box that had definitely been wrapped at a department store. 

“Joaquin, this is condescending. I got you a _gift card_.”

“Just open the box, man. I’ve also never gotten you anything before, so consider this a back payment.”

No one had ever bought him clothes before. Even Gladys had simply given him a couple of twenty dollar bills and dropped him off at the discount store with Jellybean every fall since he was ten or eleven. 

He puts the sweater on. From the doorway, he hears a whistle. “You look good in that, Jones. I’ve got good taste. Have you even taken the tags off?” Joaquin jokes, sinking down onto the mattress beside him. Jughead rolls his eyes. 

“Lose the hat, man. Remind her about the times she saw you without it,” Joaquin waggles his eyebrows. Jughead isn’t sure if he wants to hug him or flip him off.

 

 

He boards the subway only ten minutes before the party is supposed to begin. It’s almost an hour from his apartment on east edge of Williamsburg to Betty and Veronica’s, but he spent the previous hour sitting on his bed as the light drained from his room, imaging him showing up before anyone else, having to introduce himself to every single person as they arrive. Even though he’s overcome at least half of his adolescent social anxieties, he’s not an idiot.

Instead, he spent the hour mentally rehearsing everything that could go wrong, which usually just boiled down to botching his reunion with Betty and evacuating out of shame. While he is grateful that Veronica informed him about Betty and this other guy, he’s about five minutes from spiraling by the time he actually gets buzzed through the front door.

Winding up each flight of stairs, he repeats his predetermined party rules:  
_You do not get to be upset over who she is now or the choices she makes._  
_Do not randomly touch her hair or shoulders._  
_Avoid being left alone with Veronica._

Jughead sees her shoes first as he ascends to the final landing, a suede sneaker in a color obnoxiously dubbed millennial pink, a color that has never belonged to an entire generation, but has always belonged to Betty Cooper. She’s tapping her heel, a nervous tick most employed when she’s impatient.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” He intends to sound smooth, but his throat gets tight as he sees her fully, and it comes out too soft, too tender. Her hair is down, blue-green eyes absurdly bright, but it is her smile that makes his eyes glaze over. He used to not even notice when his lovestruck expression came on; eventually Archie started elbowing him out of it in public settings. Veronica would text him heart eyed emojis from across the chem lab. He always received them too late.

Jughead has seen Betty in pictures over the past few years, but nothing does justice to the actual Betty Cooper standing in front of him. Her face is slightly more angular, having lost the roundness of high school baby face. He itches to reach out and trace her jawline with his fingers.

“Jug, you liar! You said you still wear the hat!” She closes the gap between them, wrapping her arms around him in a loose hug, like casual friends that see each other on weekends. He pulls her in tighter, but her face doesn’t bury into the pocket of his collarbone--clavicle--like his muscle memory expects.

“I do, I promise. Just not when I am moving to a new city and meeting new people.” He finishes his sentence before he lets her go, but she doesn’t pull all the way out of his arms yet. He can’t figure out her new shampoo; it’s not vanilla anymore, but something musky and earthier.

“It’s not a bad thing, Juggie,” she says softly, taking a breath before adding, “It’s almost unfair. I used to think your hair was kind of a special privilege.”

He’s going to buy Joaquin pizza for a month.

She steps back to the apartment door before he can respond. “Any other changes I should know about, hatless Jug? Or are you ready to come in and meet some new people?”

Stepping inside the apartment, he takes in the rest of her for the first time. Her outfit diverges sharply from her high school sweater wardrobe; her high waisted jeans are decidedly not Alice Cooper approved.

“V! Jug is here!” Betty calls out. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised, given that Veronica Lodge lives there, but he has never been in an apartment of anyone his age where the furniture is coordinated, much less curated to the extent of the dining room they enter. Betty approaches the bar area.

“Do you, um…?” She asks hesitantly, gesturing to the alcohol.

“Sure, just beer though.” She grabs two bottles and removes the caps as a very short, pink haired woman enters. Her combat boots and tattered Nirvana shirt remind him of JB in a way that makes her seem a lot more approachable to him than she would probably like to be.

“So this is the dude you’ve been waiting like an anxious puppy for all night?” the woman quips, and Jughead accidentally takes a huge gulp from his beer and tries not to spit it back out. Betty’s cheeks flood with pink.

“I… He’s...” Betty stammers, and for some reason, Jughead finds he is the one flushing red. 

“Toni Topaz,” the woman reaches out, so he shakes her hand. 

“Jughead Jones. We’ve both got that alliteration thing going for us.” 

“I heard Jughead isn’t your real name, though.” Betty’s eyes widen at Toni’s comment and her face slips into an embarrassed, guilty grimace.

“Toni was my roommate for four years, Jug. I’m sorry! It was one of those “my story is weirder than yours” kind of contests.” 

“So… you know my real name?” He hates how uncomfortable he feels, liking to believe he’s evolved enough to share his given name unflinchingly or meet people without the comfort of his hat as a barrier.

“No, despite my pleading,” Toni says. “I just needed to know that your mother did not actually name you Jughead.” 

He laughs, a little relieved that Betty hadn’t divulged everything. “Both came from my father, actually, which makes sense if you know him.”

Jughead feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to see Veronica, teetering in 4 inch stilettos, which means her head actually reaches his shoulder. It also means she’s already tipsy. If any woman can walk in heels without a hitch, it was Veronica Lodge.

“Jugggg!”

Maybe more than tipsy.

“God damn you gangly idiot, you filled out! Is this a bicep?” She squeezes his arm and he wants to dissolve into the floor, but Betty throws her head back, grinning like her face is going to break open.

“And the hair! For open public consumption? Thank God.” With false solemnity, she makes the sign of the cross, at which Betty bursts into a fit of giggles. Jughead forgives Veronica’s antics so long as he can watch Betty laugh.

His visual is interrupted by another man stepping up behind Betty and slipping and arm around her waist. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the guy, who judging by Betty’s sly smile must be the one Veronica brought up in her phone call. She hadn’t warned him that the man was essentially a larger version of himself, with a rounded face and more product in his hair. He knows he has no real grounds to feel jealous, but the way his temperature spikes is involuntary. 

He swears he hears Veronica scoff, but she continues so swiftly into the introduction that he’s not sure. “Jug, this is Sweet Pea.” Veronica pronounces the man’s name with the same overemphasized diction he once heard Alice Cooper use on his own name, and he doesn’t need to second guess the scoff or the skeptical tone during their phone call.

Betty seems to squirm a little and leans just slightly out of Sweet Pea’s grip on her waist. Jughead feels his airway loosen in tandem. 

“Jughead, Veronica, and I were best friends in high school, and he just moved to Brooklyn!” Betty chirps, taking another half-step away from Sweet Pea.

He can’t resist adding, “Actually, we met in kindergarten.”

To his surprise, Veronica chimes in, too. “It’s pretty gross, actually, they had this treehouse that even in high school only them and Archie were allowed into. They have all these ridiculous traditions. Like, Betty has baked Jug an entire cake from scratch on his birthday every year since they were like, nine years old. Then on Betty’s birthday Jug would always buy her a new hardcover book, sometimes even collector’s editions, even though he had basically no money and worked at the nation’s last standing drive-in movie theater.”

He can’t decide if he wants to hug Veronica or kill her. Toni tilts her head, looking concerned for Veronica’s level of intoxication. Sweet Pea looks uncomfortable, which would delight Jughead if Betty wasn’t glancing sheepishly up at him, blushing a very bright pink. He tries to make eye contact with her to roll his eyes, how embarrassing, but Betty only turns her eyes to Veronica with a heat of warning. 

After a significant pause, Sweet Pea breaks it with a curt nod. “Nice to meet you, man. Betty, you want to get some air?”

“Um, sure.” Her eyes finally meet his, wide with apology. Whether she’s sorry for Veronica’s speech or leaving him alone to spend time with her pseudo boyfriend, it softens the spike in his blood pressure. 

Toni waits for them to be firmly out of earshot before going in on Veronica. “What the fuck, V! That was so awkward!”

Veronica shrugs and walks towards the bar. Toni seems torn about intervening between Veronica and the vodka bottle, but holds herself back by turning towards him. 

“Look, Jughead, it really is nice to meet you and I’m glad you’re here because any friend of Betty’s is a friend of mine. But she’s also changed a lot in the past few years. She’s allowed to like someone who she didn’t pretend marry in her backyard when she was seven.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but Veronica interjects her defense. “First of all, Betty never married Jug in the backyard. That was Archie. Second, of course she’s allowed to like whoever the fuck she wants, but if it’s an indecisive prick like Sweets, I am entitled to my own sabotage.”

“Fine, Ron. Let me know when you’ve retired from the night’s manipulations.” Toni stomps in the opposite direction. Veronica looks after her, a little hurt. Jughead’s reading of Veronica Lodge is rusty, but he’s watched her watch Archie walk away enough times to recognize the emotion she traps down. She turns it off quickly as she turns back to Jughead.

“And then there were two. Let’s go find Kevin.”

She stalks off the same direction as Betty and Sweet Pea had gone, and he realizes that despite his rule not to let himself alone with Veronica, he has no one else to talk to. The party is not overwhelmingly crowded, but he almost loses Veronica as she weaves into the kitchen. She makes a beeline for who he assumes is Kevin, a well-dressed man leaning against the kitchen island, enraptured by his phone. 

“Put down Instagram, you screenager! This is Jughead, the literary magazine Betty told you about.”

Jughead has no idea what she’s talking about, but nods in greeting anyway. Kevin examines him with a mischievous eye. “How is it that all your high school friends are a total snack bar? I would have come out so much earlier in Riverdale.” 

“Down, Kevin,” Veronica sighs.

He raises his hands in a dramatic surrender. Veronica explains, “Kevin was my best friend at Columbia. He met Archie over New Years and hasn’t been able to shut up about his conspiracy theories that Sweetwater River has hormonally jacked up the male population, all based on Archie’s high school photos of the football team Kevin found on Facebook.”

“Not the Sweetwater conspiracy I favor, personally, but not bad,” Jughead tells Kevin, who nods graciously before getting distracted by something across the room.

“Speaking of Riverdale conspiracies, Midge just walked in with her "boyfriend." I’d never get back in _the_ closet, but I might get in a closet for _a_ night with Moose.” As he leaves, Veronica calls after him, “Just not in the bedrooms, okay?”

Jughead wants to laugh but he's not sure if he should; he knows from his years in Riverdale that Moose and Midge have always had a very open relationship, but he never thought it would stand the test of time. He wonders, for a blip, what Joaquin might think of Kevin. Probably way too over the top to be his type. Then again, Jughead wasn’t sure Joaquin had a type. He wasn’t even sure Joaquin had ever been in a relationship.

Veronica teeters again, steadying herself on the counter. “I think I need to sit down.” He moves to pull out a stool for her, but she’s already heading for the living room. 

The throng of guests is the thickest in this room, but Veronica heads to the corner furthest from the music and almost trips onto a loveseat. Jug catches her by the elbow and lowers her down. He glances around for Betty, but she’s nowhere to be seen. A sinking feeling worms its way into his stomach.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, before. I felt like I was getting angry _for_ you.” Veronica doesn’t sound particularly sorry, but he knows not to expect histrionics. It is not the Lodge Ladies way to emote anything that could be considered weak. 

He takes the spot next to her, finally draining the beer Betty gave him. He takes the drink out of Veronica’s hand, too. He’s usually fine at parties like this, but his protective instincts toward Veronica surged as she tripped. He tries not to be that friend, but it’s hard to deprogram. 

“I’m not angry.” He takes a sip, grimacing at the vodka. He doesn’t particularly like hard alcohol; he can’t even bear the smell of whiskey. But the sinking feeling is something he could do without, remembering that Betty is still absent and last seen with a guy with an equally ridiculous nickname to his own. 

“Well, then lay it out for me, because I’ve been clear. I want the best for my girl, and I’m enough of a hopeless romantic to believe that is still you. Toni is right, Betty has changed. I’m guessing you have too, beanieless Jug.”

Of course, he believes this too, this absurd hope that he could revive the entire plan for him and Betty to live and thrive in New York City together, finally free of family grievances and small town drama. Hearing Veronica give him an endorsement means more than he would ever admit.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t still care about her, Veronica.” 

“The first year of college was rough at times, and that’s why Toni is a little defensive. But she’s been seeing a therapist for the last four years. She has better boundaries with Alice and even sticks up for Polly a lot, too. But she has walls up about you. She doesn’t talk about it.”

Jughead sets Veronica’s empty glass down and buries his face in his hands. He knew that he wasn’t going to slip right back into her life like he’d never left. He’d been foolish not to consider that the wounds could still be raw.

“Jug, listen. I’m on your team. All I’m saying is, don’t continue to let the shit that’s fucked everything up for you guys in the past be what continues to hold you back.”

He doesn’t want to ask the question forming in his mouth but it’s already coming out. “Do you think this whole Sweet Pea thing is… I don’t know, a defense mechanism? Why she doesn’t want to date him?”

Veronica’s eyes get soft. “Jughead, I’m not going to debrief the last four years of Betty’s romantic history. I just happen to believe this particular situation has gone on long enough. Now please go fucking find her already!”

He’s not sure if he feels better or worse now, but he knows she is right about the last part.  
“Can you promise me you won’t drink any more tonight?”

“Can you promise not to annoy me to death?”

“Should I go find Toni?”

He hits a nerve with that, and Veronica lurches forward, grabbing her empty glass. Her face turns so red and her jaw so set that he’s not sure if she is going to scream at him or burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, that was… overstepping. I’ll just go.” 

She nods slowly. “Can you… not tell Betty?”

“I genuinely wouldn’t even know what to tell. But as long as we’re making pacts…”

She mimes zipping her lips.

 

 

Jughead wanders through the apartment, already less crowded than when he arrived. He keeps his eyes peeled for her ponytail before reminding himself that he’s not looking for an image in his memory. After looking too long at another blonde across the kitchen, he feels a nudge at his elbow. Kevin hands him a beer and drunk-whispers, “She’s on the roof, Romeo.”

Jughead shakes off the feeling that Kevin was drunk enough to mistake him for Sweet Pea. He follows a returning trail of people out of the door to the fire escape and winds the stairs. He takes a moment to absorb the reality that he’s in New York, he’s climbing fire escapes to rooftops in Manhattan. But as he reaches the top and sees her, alone but content, looking out at the skyline, he admits _this is what I came here for._

“Jug.” She smiles as he approaches, and the feeling that it brings him, warm and practically medicinal, has not diluted in the sixteen years they’ve been friends. 

“Betts. Tired of your own party?” He pulls up a chair just a few feet across from her and sits, resisting the once familiar move of pulling her feet up to rest on his lap.

“Maybe a little.” She shrugs and even though she has lost the bright energy she greeted him with at the door, he feels like he recognizes her more completely like this, when her facade is worn through. It reminds him of when he’d wait through her graveyard shift at Pop’s and she would start to softly sing along to whatever was playing on the faux jukebox radio while wiping down menus. Or of the day Cheryl demanded Betty’s “resignation” from the River Vixens, including an immediate return of all Vixen regalia. Cheryl probably thought Betty would fight the decision, but with silent ferocity, Betty stripped off her Vixens shirt in the middle of the gym and walked out without a word, wearing only a sports bra. 

“I didn’t know Veronica would get so drunk and I didn’t mean to desert you like that. I’m really sorry. I also knew that if we got to talking we’d just hole up in the corner for most of the night...” She trails off, waiting for him to soothe the ever-present mild panic that she’d done something to disappoint others.

“That sounds like an amazing party to me.” He feels a boyish smirk he can’t hold back. He’s both alarmed and comforted by how little has changed when he’s around her. Her grin widens. He tugs it back a little to address the scene in the dining room. 

“I’m sorry if Veronica made things uncomfortable for you earlier.”

Betty inhales and stares off at the skyline, exhaling loudly. “You don’t need to apologize for her, Jug, she is responsible for her own actions, even when she’s hammered.”

“I know. I just…” Jughead trails off, realizing he has not planned this conversation at all and wants to say the right thing. Even after his confidence boosting conversation with Veronica, he doesn’t want to be aggressive with his intentions. “I didn’t move here with any assumptions. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

He wants to cringe at himself. Betty nods, her face frustratingly blank, until she takes another big breath and changes the topic.

“How’s New York so far? Everything you’ve ever dreamed?”

 _I like what I see._ He filters the instinctive flirtations. “It’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way. I’m trying not to put any pressure on it, especially after so many years of dreaming about it.” Even with his filter, he hears the direct parallel in his words. He pulls her tactic back on her and switches the topic. “How did that interview go?”

She shrugs, deflating a little. “Good, I think? It’s so hard to tell. I was very intimidated. The applicant who came in after me was a Harvard grad who looked old enough to have a master’s degree.” 

“I know I’m biased, but they’d be idiots not to hire you.” 

Betty smiles, but Jughead knows she doesn’t believe him. She’d once told him that his support bordered on delusion. She stares out at the city sky, and he knows she is about to change the subject again. 

“How is your dad? I hope you told him congratulations from me last last summer. I felt so stupid that I didn’t send a card or anything.” Betty had actually sent him a three page text that he read, verbatim, to FP. They’d both gotten choked up.

“He’s good. He cried when I read your message, actually. He wants to get you lunch sometime and apologize.”

“Apologize? What for?”

Jughead hesitates. Everything about their conversation is guarded, full of raw edges. But now, closer to the heart of everything, she doesn’t retreat. “I think he just feels guilty for… well, the accident, obviously. But everything that came after, too.”

She nods, slowly. They used to be good at conversation. Betty was the one he could take his armour off around. He was the one she could shake off the perfection filter for. 

So he takes a risk and presses back. “So where did you meet… um, sorry, I don’t want to mess up his name. Sweet Pea?” 

Betty rolls her eyes, but seems to relax a little. “You are literally the last person on earth who can make fun of someone’s name, Forsythe.”

Somehow she is still the only person in the known universe who can call him that without him wanting to die. 

“He’s actually in a band, and I guess a venue had a last minute cancellation for one of their openers, so they went to perform.”

Jughead tries to keep every hint of surprise or judgement off his face. _A band? I didn’t think Betty fell for dumb shit like that._ Only for heart of gold loners with from families entrenched in criminal lifestyles and motorcycles, all expressly forbidden by her mother. It was all dumb shit, he supposes.

“So how did you meet?”

“Um, he and Toni are friends. We went to his band’s show in April and then we all went out afterwards.”

He continues nodding, gesturing her to answer the whole question. She taps her foot, the nervous tick.

“It’s just casual.”

Jughead lets the word “casual” roll back and forth, trying to find a convincing place in his memories of Betty. Sure, Betty could be casual. But usually as a ploy to get a source to talk to her. A way to deflect her parents’ antics. 

“Betts, I didn’t come here with assumptions. I know we can’t just turn our friendship on like an old appliance, or something. I just hope we can be friends again, like we used to be.”

She tilts her head, like she’s individually interpreting his words. When she speaks her tone is a little more guarded. “Me too, Jug. I guess I just want to be clear...”

“I want whatever you want, Betty.”

 

 

______________________

 

 

She is still in her homecoming dress when she wakes in the waiting room of Riverdale General. A thin hospital blanket is draped over her, meaning Jug must have bribed a nurse for it, even after Alice had sternly asked him to ‘give our family some space.’

The waiting room is cleared out; no Blossoms or Jug to be seen, even though if the Coopers were still there, FP and Jason must be, too. One of the nurses let slip that Polly had been very lucky; the least impacted. Polly was kept conscious for a few tests, but they let her sleep to allow her to recover from her concussion. Jason was in surgery, but they were under orders not to tell Polly this yet. 

Betty pulls the blanket up further to cover her cold shoulders and begins to drift again, her head snapping backward, when Dr. Masters emerges from the double doors, gesturing to her parents. Betty’s dad reaches over and pats her arm, letting her know to wait, to go back to sleep. Betty wants to be in her own bed, or at least be able to charge her phone and text Jughead. 

Either a second or an hour later, her mom gently shakes her awake. 

She sits up, her neck twitching uncomfortably. “Are we going home?”

Her mother smiles tightly. “Not just yet, but I think you should. Polly is okay, but the doctors… they need to do a few more tests. You can see her tomorrow. Can you drive?”

Betty slides out of her slumped position and perches on the edge of the chair. She’s been trained to have good posture her whole life, to sit at the edge of her chair while she plays piano; she’s too well aligned to sleep in a hospital chair without some pain. Stretching forward, she notices her father through the slim windows to the recovery wing. He’s pacing and puffing his breath out like he’s gearing up for a fight, or maybe coming down from one. Hal Cooper is the epitome of the docile, ‘yes-honey’, anger-forgetting father; Betty has never seen him like this.

“What kinds of tests? Have you heard anything about Jason or FP?” 

Alice’s tight smile dissolves. “Betty, I need you to go home and rest. Take the Volvo, but don’t fall asleep.”

Betty takes the keys like they are a foreign artifact. “Are FP and Jason okay?”

Alice snaps, “They are both alive and breathing as of now. Go home. We will talk tomorrow.”

Betty shuffles towards the exit, bristling from her mother’s callous tone. She scans the room before she exits, looking for any other clues to the latest developments. She tries to remember if Sheriff Keller had indicated anything further when he spoke to her family the night before.

_FP appeared to have misjudged the distance and speed of travel on his motorcycle due to high levels of intoxication. He stuck the drivers side of the vehicle, rendering Jason and Polly unconscious. FP would likely survive because he hadn’t collided with the car, but was thrown away from both vehicles on the impact._

All of her thoughts, even in crisis, churn out like a newspaper story when she tries to deduce the missing pieces.

The Volvo is parked across multiple spaces in a No Parking zone, but no one in this town would dare tow Alice Cooper’s car. Betty turns it on and plugs in her phone. As the battery lights up she decides to wait, a flicker of an idea sparking. When her phone restarts she has twelve messages and three voicemails; Archie, Jughead, Veronica. She only clicks on one.

_“Hey, I had to go back to my dad’s trailer. He got out of surgery early this morning. Call me when you can.”_

She dials, knowing she might wake him up.

“Hey, how are you? Is Polly alright?” He’s groggy, but certainly not from a dead sleep.

“Hey,” she sighs, and starts releasing the tension and uncertainty coiled tight in her chest. “She’s okay. She has a concussion and collarbone fracture, but it seems minimal compared to Jason or your dad. My parents are being weird and sending me home. Can you meet me at Pop’s?”

 

 

Betty goes home to change out of her dress and remove the bobby pins in her hair, so Jughead beats her there. A stack of pancakes waits in the spot across from him, and she notices he’s still in the same suit jacket, now rumpled. She’s wearing leggings and Polly’s River Vixens sweatshirt, but in spite of her appearance, Jughead sighs, “Betty Cooper, you are a sight for sore eyes,” before pulling her into him. She falls into his embrace, feeling the ghost of their almost-kiss hovering between them.

They slide into their respective sides of the booth. “Have you slept?” She shakes her head and he reaches for her. She lets him stroke her forearm with his thumb, grounding her.

“I haven’t either, actually. My dad’s still in the hospital but the sheriff’s office is already lining up charges for his arrest. I just had a very bizarre meeting with this woman who claims to be my dad’s lawyer.”

“Jug,” Betty reaches back across the table, squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this right now. You should be with your dad. Do you think…” She hesitates, not knowing how to insert herself into the sharp edges and trip wires of the Jones family relationships. She doesn’t know much, only what she could squeeze out of Archie: Gladys left with Jellybean a few months ago. FP’s drinking had been getting worse for a while. Jughead was hardly staying at home.

“I’m not the one who needs to be sorry. I’m so glad your sister is okay.” He removes his hand and Betty’s stomach twists with fear that she crossed a redrawn line. Instead, he reaches to take off his hat, ruffling the waves underneath. It’s been years since she last saw him without his hat on.

“Maybe I should have been home, you know? I could have stopped this.” He’s kneading his hat in his hands, and a disappointment bordering on rage twists his mouth.

“No, Jug. You should not have been home. Your dad’s choices are not yours. But no matter what happens to him, you will be okay. I promise.” This is not a promise Betty knows how to keep, but she wants to.

Jughead nods slowly, but Betty isn’t sure he really believes her. “I guess it’s his third DUI in seven years. He’s almost definitely going to go to jail. And I don’t know where I’m going to go.” He grabs a fork and punctures the pancakes. She joins him, and they make quick work of the pancakes. He stays to one side of the plate, but Betty lets him eat most of her half, too. The food makes her feel warm, softened, and ready to fall asleep in the booth.

“Let me drive you home, Betts. You’re drifting.” He reaches over and touches her arm again, and his touch feels like sunshine on her skin. She just wants to stay with him as long as she can, to wrestle with the beast of uncertainty by keeping him at her side. 

“What about you?”

“I’m heading to Archie’s anyway.” He stands and holds out his hand, and she lets him gently help her up from the booth.

They drive mostly in silence, and Betty thinks about their almost-kiss, the blue of his eyes and her readiness to fall into them. How hungry that moment left her, staunched only by the immediate shock of the accident. Now, she feels the ssme hunger growing again, even on a full stomach. She wonders if he’s thinking about it, too. 

Then she remembers that Polly and his father are in the hospital, and she feels a sliver of guilt that all she can think about is the soft part of Jughead’s lips. She wonders how Polly feels, not knowing if the person she loves is breathing, or when she can see him again. 

“Did you hear anything about Jason?” Betty asks.

“You didn’t see him at the hospital?” 

“No, but my mom said he’s… alive. Which I guess isn’t much to go on.”

“My dad’s lawyer is trying to figure out if Jason was drinking, too. I mean, I hope not, but it could help my dad.”

Betty just nods. Maybe that’s why her dad had seemed so angry. Jason could have easily been drinking, too, at the dance. The thought feels much heavier than anything she can process. 

“My parents probably won’t be back from the hospital for a while, if you want to just come in and-” She stops, realizing that she’s essentially asking him to come sleep in her room with her. “It would be nice to not be alone,” she finishes quietly. 

His gaze is soft and she holds onto her seat belt to keep herself from launching across the console at him. “Yeah, whatever you want.” 

They park and enter through the garage. She leads the way up the stairs to her bedroom and collapses on her bed. Before he can try to sit on the floor or her window seat, she pats the space next to her. She knows it’s probably not appealing to share a twin bed, but he joins her. She feels the heat emanating from his body after he removes the sherpa lined jacket and her nose fills with the scent of his skin, a combination of pine and gasoline that she had always found bizarrely comforting. All of it makes her sleepier, and she doesn’t realize that she’s already drifting off until she feels the weight of him next to her and his arm curl around her waist.

She prays to dream about homecoming.

This time, she’ll kiss him on the dancefloor. She’ll make Polly and Jason come to Pop’s with them. 

 

 

The nightmare awaits when Betty wakes.

The first thing she notices is the sharp dissonance between Jughead’s soft breathing, his face nuzzled against the back of her neck, and the sound of her parents snapping at each other in the hallway.

Betty blinks her eyes open and tries, out of her deep sleep, to untangle her arms from Jughead’s and nudge him awake.

“My parents are home,” she murmurs. As she twists her body to face him, her hand flies to his hair. The beanie has fallen off, again exposing his dark, impossibly smooth waves. With his eyes still closed, he smiles softly and tugs her closer to him, bringing her face into is chest.

She snaps out of the enveloping warmth as her dad raises his voice and becomes clear through the walls. _“I will not suffer monstrosity under this roof, and I will do everything it takes to make sure that drunken fuck-up goes to prison for as long as our justice system will allow!”_

Betty shudders. She’s almost never heard her father yell before. She wonders if Jughead is the monstrosity. Surely, FP is the drunken fuck-up. Unless it was Jason. Jughead has gone stiff, the lazy smile wiped off his face. 

“You can climb out the window onto the roof. May dad has been cleaning out the gutters this week. There should be a ladder on this side of the house you can use to climb down.”

He nods, beginning to stand, and she gets up to open the window latch quietly. He laces up his shoes and comes to the window seat, still holding his hat. Betty reaches up and tucks one of the dark waves behind his ear, leaving her hand there to cradle the side of his face. Her heart flutters in the pit of her stomach as he mirrors her, his thumb coming to stroke her cheek. He moves slowly, as if she could spook, but Betty is frozen, coursing with hunger and panic. She feels his breath, the barest graze of his lips, when the shouting and stomping feet remerge at the top of the stairs.

Everything happens at double time, like the universe has decided to compensate for the slow moment she and Jughead were sharing. Jughead places a kiss on her forehead before swinging his legs out the open window. “I’ll call you,” he whispers, and moves along the roof and out of sight just as Betty’s door handle turns. Betty launches herself back towards her bed and fakes sleep as her mom enters.

Betty’s heart is pounding so loudly that she thinks Alice will surely know she’s awake. The window is still open, and she prays Jughead has made it down the side of the house. 

“Betty?” 

She pretends to stir, looking up to a disheveled Alice, whose hair in a ponytail that makes Betty feel like she’s looking into a mirror of herself in 30 years. 

“I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

Betty takes her time sitting up, turning her face away from her mom. She wills herself to breathe normally, which is almost impossible when concentrating so hard.

“Oh, is dad home?” she asks, yawning midway through the question out of oxygen deprivation rather than genuine sleepiness. 

Alice sits at the foot of the bed. Her mouth opens and her eyebrows twitch, but she gives a long pause. “Elizabeth, things are a little complicated, but I want you to know that everything is going to be okay. Once Polly finishes recovering in the hospital, she’s going to go stay somewhere for a while. We want to give her time to fully recharge after this trauma, somewhere quiet and away from the drama.”

Betty’s eyes fall closed, and she grips the mattress below her as she starts to feel lightheaded. “Where is she going? Why can’t she recharge at home? And what do you mean by ‘the drama’?”

Alice swallows. “Your father and I have thought a lot about this and we think it’s best if Polly gets a break from Riverdale for a while. Of course, FP going to jail will mean some changes for all of us.”

Betty doesn’t know what’s happening in her body. There is too much and not enough air in her lungs, and every muscle in her body is both buzzing and paralyzed. “Mom, I don’t understand.”

Alice won’t look at her, and for the first time Alice’s gaze falls on the unlatched window.

“I have spoken to the social worker at Riverdale High, and she’s contacted Ms. Jones,” Alice says, crossing the room to relatch the window. “I made a recommendation that the state evaluate Jug-head’s custody under Fred Andrews. I believe Gladys may already be on her way to Riverdale.”

Betty doesn’t understand why her mom’s voice is so calm, so matter-of-fact. 

“You mean, Jughead’s mom is moving back?” Holding onto the mattress is not enough to keep herself steady. She curls her hands into fists, and the ability to channel her energy somewhere feels so good, she’s numb to the feeling of her fingernails against her palms.

The window latch clicks into place loudly, and Alice switches the lock as well. “No, Betty. He’s going with her.”

Betty shuts her eyes again and tries to return to the minutes before her mom walked in or her dad started yelling, but already they feel like they happened in a dream or another universe. It is impossible to think about anything except how hard it is to breathe right, how hard her heart is pounding, or the restless energy she can neither contain nor express except to clench her fists harder.

“Elizabeth?”

Her mom’s voice sounds like it’s underwater. “Get out,” Betty whispers. “Mom, get out. Get out, get out, get out.”

 

 

There is no sense of how much time passes, only that eventually she sleeps and wakes again with a headache, blood underneath her fingernails, and the knowledge that Jughead might already be gone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> I know that one is not supposed climb fire escapes, I just got this scene in my head and couldn't let it go.  
> please please please leave me a comment if you have the chance and let me know what you think! I have loved hearing your thoughts so far and it helped me get this chapter out to know that y'all are excited about this story.
> 
> aaaaand if you want to find me on tumblr, I am @iconic-ponytail and I just created this new account for a little personal life anonymity so I would love to connect with fellow bugheads :)
> 
> \-------  
> Additionally:  
> I want to note now, because I have gotten a couple comments about this and just want to say this is a SLOW BURN for Betty and Jughead, but I did not write Betty in a relationship because I think anyone could ever compete for her affections. Jughead has always been and will be the only person Betty loves. I think that is clear in the story and that the tags are accurate; the most actual depiction of Betty with Sweet Pea is in this chapter. If this still bothers you, it might not be the story for you and I'm not offended by that. OR skim chapter 3 for the relevant stuff and start again at chapter 4.


	3. Chapter 3

Betty wakes the next morning to the smell of bacon, transporting her back to the many hours spent balancing breakfast plates during the morning rush at Pop’s, to the grease embedded in her all clothes, hair, and crevices of skin. Now in the absence of Pop's (despite Veronica's love of over-the-top brunch restaurants), Betty misses perfectly cooked bacon, which she since learned could be achieved in an oven to avoid the nightmare of grease stains. 

Unbidden, a memory surfaces from nearly five years before, when Jughead came into the diner one late summer night, during the time they were hardly speaking. 

“Can I get a burger with extra bacon and a side of onion rings?”

She had been wiping down the counters; a Little League team had just left after ordering milkshakes for a dozen young boys. The mess on the counter was sticky and Betty’s patience was thin. To top it all off, she recalls his tone being an unwarranted level of flirtatious. 

“Did I ask to take your order?” He backed away from the counter, hands lifted in surrender, trying to play it off innocently. “You can go sit in your booth and I’ll help you when I’m done with the ice cream drool incident, alright?” She snapped, but put in the order quickly thereafter, not wanting to deal with a hangry Jughead on top of the dairy disaster. Ten minutes later, when she finished the counter and moved onto refilling sugar canisters, he reappeared. 

“Um, just checking on my burger--”

The order up bell rang, and she fixed him with her most withering glare. Before she handed the plate across the counter, she gripped the monstrous burger and stuffed a large bite in her mouth. She chewed slowly as she placed it back on the plate and watched his face morph from shocked, to annoyed, to hurt, to something Betty still cannot perfectly name. She recognized the same expression on his face when Sweet Pea walked into the dining room. A look that says he can’t believe what’s happening, but he’s also certain he deserves it. 

 

 

 

Betty finds Toni in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags of orange juice cartons, a bag of onions, a block of cheddar. “Oh! You’re up. Sorry, was it the bacon?”

Betty slides across the wood floors in her slipper socks and squeezes Toni’s shoulders. Toni used to joke that Betty treated her like an beloved pet, always squeezing her or playing with her hair. Betty explained that Veronica doesn’t receive physical affection as well as she gives it, and without Archie or Jughead around, Toni became the primary outlet. Plus, Betty told her, it doesn’t help that you are the smallest and cutest thing in the world, to which Toni smacked her upside the head. “Nothing rouses the senses like being transported back to ones’ minimum wage job. What is all of this?”

“Just making breakfast for some of my favorite party animals. I decided to roast the bacon like you showed me that one time… but I might need you to check on it.”

Betty turns on the oven light. “Yeah, probably five more minutes. How can I help?” Toni rolls her eyes. “By sitting down.” Betty takes a seat at one of the stools on their island, surprised but delighted for her friend’s presence. As if reading her mind, Toni says, “I figured you might not want to face Veronica alone this morning.” She pours Betty a glass of water, a mug of coffee, and fishes out a bottle of Advil from one of the grocery bags. 

“Have you checked on her?” 

“I put her to bed. She’s definitely going to be in rougher shape than you are.” Toni’s tone is a little tense, as it often is regarding Veronica, but this time Betty feels distinctly responsible, even though she told Jughead that no one was culpable for Veronica except herself. 

Betty gulps down the water and starts sipping her coffee. “I don’t even know what to say to her. I’m more curious why it happened.”

Toni considers this, biting the inside of her cheek as she cracks eggs into a bowl. “I think only she can tell us that. Part of it is that she doesn’t really like Sweet Pea, but I also couldn’t really tell you why that is.”

Betty wasn’t sure either, only that Veronica was never particularly enthused by the guys Betty had dated in college. “It’s kind of always been like that, hasn’t it?”

To be fair, it hadn’t started off well. On her first date in college with a sociology major named Adam, they’d gone to an over-the-top trendy taco place, which already made Betty question everything about him. She had been nervous, mostly going through with it for the sake of saying she could. He talked most of the time, mentioning his class on gangs when she asked what was the most interesting part of his semester. She’s not sure what he said; it could have been his tone, or the way he wiped his hands off and tossed his napkin in the middle of the table like he was discarding an entire socio-economic circumstance. She’d stood, nails already digging into her palms, and walked out of the restaurant without saying a word. Veronica answered her unintelligible call when Betty had gotten home and realized she never refilled her prescriptions in New York. Betty found Dr. Leslie Lauder that same week.

Neither had Veronica liked Trev at any point throughout their year-long relationship. Early on, at dinner with Hermione at the Lodge penthouse, Veronica's mother asked innocently what Betty most liked about him. Reciting the manifesto of Alice Cooper’s ideal daughter, she said, “He’s just all the things you could want. Funny, handsome, smart, well-versed in culture. He wants to be a lawyer, which is kind of refreshing, to be with someone who has a clear cut plan ahead of him.” Betty did not imagine Veronica’s strong side eye. She hadn’t meant it to reflect on Jughead, but she dug her grave deeper by saying, “You know, because so many kids at NYU are the free-willed creative type.” Veronica, the business major, snorted. 

“Well,” Toni offers, “On the other hand, she and your pal Jug seem to be thick as thieves. They were talking for quite a while last night.”

Betty sighs. “They can be quite the heavy handed pair, but I don’t think he egged her on, if that’s what you mean.”

Toni starts to chop some onions. “No, not really. He seemed just as uncomfortable as you with all of that. I guess…” She trails off, pausing to close her eyes and blink away a few onion tears. “I guess I’m just feeling a little out of the loop about who the hell Jughead even is, or was, to you.” The hurt seeps out the edges of her words and Betty’s heart throbs.

“I’m really sorry, that’s completely fair.” Betty says, hating the emptiness, the lack of counter-offer. “I know I’ve said before that it’s complicated and that’s such a dumb excuse. If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t even told my therapist the whole story.”

Toni tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing from open concern to inquisitive pity. “I’m not asking for a therapy session. I just need a basis to either love or hate this guy and I don’t have a lot to stand on other than he’s important to you and Veronica seems hell-bent to bring you two together. Or back together. Meanwhile, you are maybe, supposedly, dating my other friend.”

Betty sighs. “Those are two separate things,” she starts, and even if she’s not sure this is true, she decides to draw a line. Her history with Jughead is not tied to her present with Sweet Pea, and whatever decisions or understandings needed to be made, they would be made in clean, distinct boxes. “Sweets is different from anyone I dated in college. He makes me feel appreciated for who I actually am, not a projection. He’s interesting and talented, but not arrogant. I understood Veronica's dislike for the others, but not him.”

Toni nods, moving on to grate the block of cheese. “Okay, sure, all of which you’ve told me before. Is he different than Jughead? What’s the deal with that?” Betty is all to familiar with Toni’s ability to hold her feet to the coals, but she’d never pressed Betty on Jughead. 

Betty recalls something she told Dr. Leslie a few weeks ago. “I think Sweets has shown me that relationships don’t have to be these all-enveloping, soul-snatching endeavors that have the power to break you past your furthest threshold.” Leslie hadn’t asked what kind of relationships have broken her; maybe she assumed Betty was referring to her parents. 

“Sweets is different than Jughead," Betty starts, not much louder than a whisper, "because I don’t think he could break my heart, nor do I think that I would let him.” Toni stops grating the cheese, waiting for more, but Betty is already trying to clamp down the emotion seeping out. “I’m sure Jughead would say the same of me, so I wouldn’t hold it against him. At one time, if a lot of things had gone differently, I think Jug would have been the one great love of my life. There are many ifs we’ve come a great many years and miles away from.”

Toni lets out a deep breath. “Thanks for saying that, B. And I don’t just mean to me. I think you needed to say that to yourself.” Toni squeezes her hand from across the counter and returns to making eggs, giving Betty the chance to regain composure. 

Instead, Betty is reminded of one night, sophomore year, when Toni invited a bunch of people from the student magazine over to their apartment to watch the 1996 Basquiat movie on her projector. Betty tried desperately to pay attention to the film, compulsively picking from the spread of Thai food in order to fill the panic blooming in her gut. She threw up crab rangoon in the bathroom before the end of the movie. 

She’d never told Dr. Leslie about that, either. She knows there is a psycho-analytical reason for it, but she’s not really interested. It’s not about Jug, and never had been, exactly. It was a manifestation of the stress, anxiety and depression that their life events were entangled within. Now, she has a toolbox: medication, exercise, therapy. She keeps her nails short to avoid the indentations, a side effect of the anxiety attacks. Together, she and Leslie have built boundaries with her mother, which Alice respects at least as often as she doesn’t. During one winter break, Betty even cut her hair so short it was unable to be contained to anything but a very stubby ponytail. It’s grown out again, of course. It was right for some things to survive new chapters. 

 

 

 

They share a comfortable silence over bacon and cheese omelettes. Veronica’s alarm has sounds several times, but she never emerges. Betty is itching to ask Toni for advice before Veronica finally wakes. She’s just bracing herself to ask when Toni clears her throat. 

“I know you said that Sweet Pea and Jughead are two totally separate things, but here’s what I think. First, you to make a decision about Sweet Pea, and I think you should try to limit your contact with Jughead until you do. I know that sounds ridiculous, but if you want it to be separate, I say you keep it separate.”

Betty swallows, the mouthful of eggs forming a lump in her throat that she feels all the way down. Logically, Toni is right, but resistance roils in her gut. Making a decision about Sweet Pea sounds relieving, so long as she doesn’t think about what it would look like to carry it out either way. Limiting her contact with Jughead shouldn’t be difficult. After all, she’s been doing it for years. 

But she also knows that something changed when she saw him again on the stairs. For one, she still flushed at how beautiful he was. Polly always laughed at that; “Boys aren’t ‘beautiful,’ Betty.” But Betty had diluted his visceral beauty in her memory. The intensity of his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones and definition of his jaw, the subtle broadening of his shoulders (as Veronica noted), caught her breathless. Moving to hug him, her touch had been hesitant and overly casual, afraid of the rush it still gave her to be wrapped in his arms. She found herself wanting both to get inside as fast as possible and wanting to hold on, to slip into the soft and gentle ease of being alone with him.

“Betty? Hello? What do you think?” Toni presses, and Betty’s stomach flips with the realization that this was exactly why Toni was right. “I think you have a good point,” she murmurs. 

“I think you need rules,” Toni responds firmly. Betty frowns. “Rules?”

“About Jughead. Rules about how to limit your contact until you either commit to a relationship with Sweet Pea, should he want the same, or conclusively end them. Also, rules to protect yourself, regardless of your decision.” Betty nods, agreeing in theory. She likes rules when created by an external authority, leaving herself the flexibility to judge their merits and choose not to follow them when necessary. Creating rules was far more stressful, because she could not transgress a rule she implements. 

“What do you have in mind?”

Toni finishes the last bites of her omelette and pushes her plate back. “Until you make up your mind about Sweets, you can’t see Jughead in person. You can respond to his messages, but only when he initiates. If it’s more frequent or continuous than you would text Veronica, it’s too much.” 

Betty is surprised and impressed by Toni’s thoroughness. “Agreed. That was exceptionally diplomatic. You might have missed a calling.”

Toni smirks. “The final conditions are, no rush, but I would like to hear the full story someday. And, for the sake of free and fair democracy, do not let Veronica get wise to the conditions.” From down the hallway, Veronica’s alarm rings again, and both of them cannot help but laugh.

Betty finishes her omelette and gets up to help Toni with the dishes. “Enough discussion of men, okay? What about you?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Toni scoffs and tries to sound playful, but something in her pause betrays some nervous energy. 

Laughing, Betty says, “Not what I meant! I meant how are you doing? How are you dealing with the whole post-graduation thing? I feel like the past two weeks I’ve just been in a state of avoiding all my mother’s calls and sending ten cover letters every day.” 

“I actually have an interview for an assistant shooter for a wedding photographer not far from here in about half an hour. Not really my dream job, but the pay is great and at least it’s in my field. I’m submitting some work for some shows, but gotta pay the rent now that you’re gone.” Toni smiles sadly at her, and Betty returns it. 

“Thanks for staying last night. This was really nice. You’re welcome any time.”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Don’t speak for your roommate.” Betty detects a strange sourness in her tone that she cannot interpret. As they hear water run in the bathroom, Toni says her goodbyes, slipping out the door before Veronica makes it into the kitchen. 

 

 

 

Betty doesn’t shy from being firm, aggressive even, when she needs to be. There were plenty of moments in high school that she would bite back when Cheryl Blossom tried to draw blood. It was a survival mechanism frequently employed with her mother, and even her father when he tried to act like a martyr. But Betty can’t stand to be rude without warrant, and denying Jughead’s invitation to get coffee over the next week feels exactly like that.

The white lies are convincing enough, even if her conscience squirms with each one. She _is_ very preoccupied with her job search. She has a few more interviews, but nowhere she cares about as much as _The Atlantic_ editorial fellowship she interviewed for on the day of the party. 

It's a week later, and they've finally taken out the last bit of trash from the housewarming. Betty wholeheartedly agrees with Veronica on a Netflix binge. As the next episode of _Queer Eye_ loads, Veronica asks if she has talked to Jug since the party.

“Yeah, we’ve talked,” Betty sing-songs, spooning ice cream straight from the container. It’s not her favorite brand of vanilla, but it suffices for the emotional ice cream craving that hits hard whenever they indulge in the Fab Five. “He’s been busy, you know, like me. Trying to get a job.”

Veronica purses her lips, and Betty feels sure it’s not convincing enough. Knowing Veronica, she was already texting Jughead to cross check her excuse. That, or Veronica already knew she’d been blowing Jug off and was about to hold the gun to her head. 

Betty scrapes for the words to appease her, and the truth comes out, soft and slippery. “I’m also just trying to sort out the boundaries of our friendship. I don’t want to dive back in too fast or deep, you know? I want to be cautious, for both of us.” Betty’s voice trembles slightly and Veronica notices, her expression softening as she leans over to pull Betty into her arms. Even if Veronica doesn’t invite affection, the moments she gives it fill Betty with genuine warmth. She savors the way the tension in her shoulders dissipates and wants to confess more, to probe Veronica’s insight.

Veronica speaks softly and earnestly into their embrace. “I never really apologized for everything I said at the party, and I’m sorry for everything I said, but especially for how I embarrassed you. I always think I know what you need most and that can take over me. You know how to take care of yourself, and you get to tell me to back the hell off, okay?” 

Betty sees the tears spill from Veronica’s eyes and realizes they are also running down her own cheeks. They both let out gasps of giggles and sobs, swiping the tears away. Noticing the show is still running, Veronica pauses it on Tan gasping at the nominee’s closet. 

“Thanks, V,” Betty sniffles.

The corners of Veronica’s mouth quirk up into a conspiratorial smile but catches herself mid-breath.

“What?” Betty demands, knowingly.

“Nevermind. You’re right. Caution and boundaries.” Her tone is firm, but Betty detects the under-layer of goading. 

“You’re right. I’m not going to bite.” Betty presses play, and her best friend quirks a single self-satisfied eyebrow.

 

 

 

Ironically, they are standing in line for Sweet Pea’s show the next weekend when Betty finally crumbles. She spent the week trying to list the merits of being in a relationship with Sweet Pea, attempting to move beyond the superficial: the ability to continually piss of her mother, the fact that he could get them into bars with no cover, the people she could meet through his whole up-and-coming musician network. But any further than that, her mind went dry, instead distracted by the insistent secret of Veronica’s conversation with Jughead.

“Alright, V. What were you and Jug talking about at the party? Toni told me you two were attached at the hip for most of the night.”

Veronica bats her eyes demurely and adjusts her cleavage in her plunging jumpsuit. “Whatever do you mean, Bettykins? I was wasted.”

 _And on the way to a similar state right now_ , Betty thinks, recalling the two (or three?) shots Veronica and Kevin took before the cab arrived. Betty rolls her eyes. “Do I need to whine and beg? You practically dangled it in front of me the other night.”

“When did you last text him?” She asks, as if Betty hadn’t said anything. 

“Not since Tuesday. I think he knows something is up.” 

“Don’t stress out,” Veronica says. “He’s been waiting for years to move here. He’s not going to spook if you don’t text him for a week.” Betty pivots around, annoyed that Veronica can provoke and placate in the same breath. 

When they make it through the doors, the band is already onstage and playing, which is fine by Betty. She likes White Fang’s music, but it’s definitely more Toni or Jughead’s taste than hers. The goal is to focus on being there to support Sweet Pea, to imagine becoming a more permanent fixture on nights like these. 

Veronica hands her a gin tonic, and Betty leads them into the thick of the crowd, determined to try on the role of cool band girlfriend. They play their most upbeat songs for most of the set, and Betty slips into the act; she sips her drink, dances in the bouncy way the music encourages, and smiles in the direction of her bass player boyfriend who is entirely given to the performance and unable to notice, but it feels good all the same. 

Betty recognizes the set beginning to wind down as they start to play something a little slower. She sets down her second empty drink, almost convinced that she’s genuinely having fun. But something about the shift in the music wipes the grin off her face. From the distance to the stage, the image of Sweet Pea wearing a leather jacket makes her heart plummet. 

Usually, she would be waiting at the end of the set. A girlfriend would do that, would want to make her role known in front of as many other women as possible. The thought makes her faint and nauseous. Spinning around, she spies Veronica back at the bar. More than anything, Betty wants to go home, put on sweatpants, and snuggle into Veronica’s bed. Wrapped in the duvet and bridging into sleep, she wants to admit the relief she felt when Sweet Pea left the housewarming party early. 

Betty marches to the bar and tugs Veronica’s arm. “You ready?” It’s their code, their no-questions-asked cue to leave immediately, and if Veronica seems surprised she doesn’t show it.

In the cab, Betty asks again. “What did Jug tell you that night?”

A little drunk, Veronica slides next to her. “He didn’t _tell_ me anything, but he's easy to read. I have always seen how he looks at you, and that hasn't changed. He came here because he still believes in something about you and him.”

Betty lets that thought sit with her, that after everything, it could come down to something so cliché as hope. Jughead always had the earnest and persistent faith that devotion could stretch time and distance. Maybe the domino effect of pain and loss in his life had made risk into the best way to survive. Betty was always more practical. In her experience, love was fragile. It broke and mended, but never seamlessly. Sometimes, never at all. “You’d expect our history to make it easier. Like all these pieces will fall into place just because we’re in the same city. But that’s never stopped everything from falling apart. I don’t want to be that girl anymore, V. I’ve worked so hard not to be her.”

“I know, B,” Veronica whispers, linking their arms together.

 

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

 

The first night in Toledo, Jughead doesn’t sleep. He’s always been a bit of an insomniac; as a baby his mother complained she couldn’t get more than forty minutes of sleep at a time without him crying. He knows it’s not worthwhile to think about, but he wonders if the fact that Jellybean slept eleven hours a night as an infant had any correlation to his mom taking her instead of him.

It’s hard to get comfortable on the musty cot that Gladys probably borrowed from her parents house, or in the lumpy, worn out sleeping bag. Arguably, he's slept on worse. The trailer sofa bed was extremely soft, but not good for the back. When he was seven, he slept on the floor for a year because he had an irrational fear of the plush cushions swallowing him up. He didn’t tell his parents that truth, but rather said he saw people sleeping on the ground in a nature documentary and thought it was a good survivalist practice. This wasn’t a big stretch; he’d gotten very interested in survivalist techniques that year, the same year Gladys was pregnant with Jellybean. Later, he would ask his counselor if he thought there was a correlation, only to get a hefty shrug in response. If nothing else, it confirmed that he was far too interested in literary themes and imagery to ever get into psychology. 

He slept in the projection room of the Twilight for about a week before Fred Andrews got wise to the dissolution of the Jones family, on a very similar cot and sleeping bag, but he’d slept like a rock then. There was always something to be said for finding sanctuary. There was something to be said for the fact that this wasn’t it.

 

 

 

Gladys came to Riverdale alone, which did not sweeten the deal. It would have been hard to fight forced removal from Riverdale with Jellybean in tow, gaping with the same wide blue eyes he remembers staring up from her crib the first day his parents brought her home. _You’re mine_ , he thought, something that sounds too tender and earnest for a small kid who should have been jealous for the attention his baby sister took from his already scattered mother. Then again, he never really got the opportunity to dislike or disagree; she was his. His responsibility, his anchor in their home, his reason to want something more.

No, his mom alone knocked on the Andrews’ door and greeted Fred Andrews with a voice like musical gravel. Even upstairs in Archie’s room, her voice sent shivers down his spine. It was a cocktail of sweet and bitter memories, but none he particularly wanted to relive. 

 

 

 

Part of his restlessness, alone in his mom’s cramped one bedroom apartment, was his desire to see Jellybean and be acclimated by her presence. To talk to her about their dad because Gladys sure as hell wouldn’t discuss it beyond the facts. FP would be arraigned shortly after his hospital discharge. He would likely be charged, plead guilty, and serve a minimum of twelve months in prison. Jughead felt a fraction of his dad’s stress, facing a similar fate in Ohio, though with significant difference in punishment. 

His mom was renting a small studio now, but still hadn’t finished moving from his grandparents house, a place Jughead doesn’t remember well aside from the fact that everything smelled pervasively of Newports. The reality of being in Toledo won’t fully register because he’s slept in so many unfamiliar places over the last year. Nothing feels permanent, so why let this?

The exhaustion is certainly present. The last time he slept soundly was in Betty’s room, the last moments of peace. They hadn’t known that while they were fast asleep, everything began to burn down around them. At the time, nothing else had mattered.

He pulls his phone out, realizing he has no idea how long it will work until his service is shut off. Maybe he’ll get one more month before his dad goes in, but with all the court fees, it seems unlikely that FP will pay the phone bill. He wants to call Betty, but he also knows it’s not going to be painless. That maybe he needs to wait, adjust, before either of them can handle it. 

 

 

 

When he hears Gladys at the Andrews' door, he realizes he doesn’t even know what time it is. The days have been growing shorter, and the darkness outside doesn’t mean much. He and Betty slept from about seven in the morning until late afternoon. The clock on Archie’s bedside table reads 8:00 PM. He knows, without a doubt, why his mom is here, and he knows that if this ball is already rolling, he does not have much time. He cannot formulate everything before he’s already dialing Betty.

“Jug!” She answers, and he sees the light in her room turn on. “Are you still here?”

He swallows a gasp of panic, realizing that their window is closing to even say goodbye. The window is closing on every bright thing Jughead has wanted for a very long time. “Still here,” he breathes. “I’m guessing Alice knows. My mom is-- she just got here. I don’t think she knows I know. Can you come to the window?’ A moment later, the curtains draw. Even from across the yard, he can tell that Betty does not look well. Her shoulders are slumped, and she has gauze taped around the hand clinging to the curtain. 

“I don’t understand why this has to happen. My mom is sending everyone away from me. You, and now Polly…” She turns away from him, covering her face.

“What do you mean? What’s happening with Polly?”

“I don’t know. She just said that Polly is going to stay somewhere for a while, which sounds like they’re having her committed or something.” Her voice is breaking, Jughead aches to hold her, a thought that one week ago he could only have dreamed. “I’m so sorry, Betty.” 

She turns back to face him, fully. “Can we at least-” She chokes a little bit, unable to say what they are both thinking. _Goodbye._ Jughead bumps his forehead on the glass, hoping that maybe it would jolt him out of a nightmare.

“Should I come back there?” he asks, and it comes out like a croak. He’s not sure he can actually handle a goodbye, but he knows he’ll hate himself for not trying.

Betty looks behind her and back again with a grimace. “I don’t think this is a safe place. My dad is downstairs, but I could climb out. What about you?”

The idea comes to him when she says ‘safe place.’ 

“I’m going to go downstairs, say goodbye to Fred and Archie. I’m going to tell my mom I have some things to grab at the Twilight. We won’t have much time, but if you can get there, the lock is easily picked with a bobby pin, I’m sure.”

She nods firmly, determined. In a different world, he would be charmed by her tactical readiness for the mission. 

“I might only have about an hour before my mom checks in again. She went back to the hospital, but she’s probably wary that I’m going to try something.”

Archie emerges from his bathroom, and Jughead swallows. “I’ll keep things brief.”

 

 

 

Permanency feels connected to his sleeplessness, he decides. He can’t surrender consciousness because he understands something enormous has just shifted, but its full scale has not really registered. In a matter of 24 hours, he’d gone from a school dance to the hospital, from Pop’s to Betty’s bedroom, from wondering if his father was alive to his mother sitting in the living room with Fred Andrews, pretending all of this was okay, or maybe just deluded that it could be temporary. Parting with Archie and Fred felt like a fever dream. The whole situation felt like a force they would fight if they had an ounce of time or energy, but it all came crashing upon them so quickly. 

When he came downstairs, he hadn’t even wanted to look at Gladys. It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed his mom at all in the past few months. If there were ever moments when he thought things might change, it was because once every few weeks he would come home from school or working at the Twilight Drive-In and she would have made spaghetti and meatballs. She would ask him and Jellybean if they wanted to rent a video. She would have already brought their clothes to the laundromat that day; all things that moms do that he knew were worthy of gratitude, but maybe not the miracle he cherished in those moments. His mom took those symbolic gestures of hope and dedication away with his sister.

Jughead looked up at her after a moment, remembering how the night she left had been horrible. The fourth of July: illegal fireworks going off all over Sunnyside at random intervals, FP ducking in and out of the trailer again to grab beers or swigs of bourbon, engines gunning across fields. Serpent activity was high, so Jughead was laying low, trying to see what Archie was up to and getting no responses.

He doesn’t blame Gladys for the final straw. Or at least, he shouldn’t, especially because she was here now, ironically, ready to take him away in the moment he least wants to leave Riverdale. 

Fred tried to get them to stay the night, mentioned how tired Jughead must be, and assured Gladys she was welcome to the guest bedroom. But she has to work, so they need to drive through the night.

Fred hugs him, his voice wobbly when he says, “I’m sure we will see you back here again, Jug. You’re welcome any time. We love you.”

Archie and him embrace for so long that he’s sure he sees Gladys raise one eyebrow slightly. Archie murmurs in his ear, “Eighteen, Jug. I’m coming to move you back on your eighteenth birthday.” Jughead felt his chest constrict, as if he were trying to pump something very dense and sticky through his heart. 

 

 

 

They load his bag into his mom’s beaten up two-door compact and get in silently. Before Jughead can ask, she does.

“Do you need to stop anywhere?” She doesn’t even qualify the need.

“Um, I actually need to grab some things I left in the projector booth at the Twilight. Is that okay?”

She nods, and they drive down Elm and turn to head south. The drive-in usually has movies on Saturday, but they stopped for the season two weeks ago. His stomach swings around every corner they take. When they pull up, he can’t tell if anyone is in the projector booth, though he supposes that Betty would probably try to make it look empty.

“I should just be a few minutes.” His mom nods, unphased.

He whips the key out and opens the door only wide enough to fit through. Relief floods every vein at the sight of Betty perched on his cot. They both only need to take one stride to meet in the middle. He feels like they probably spend the few minutes he promised his mom just standing there, breathing in her vanilla shampoo. The space feels too fragile to insert any words; neither of them seem to want to invite the inevitable.

They have never held each other like this before. What could have taken them weeks to reach, the events of the last day have brought out more quickly than Jughead had ever anticipated when he felt nervous inviting her to homecoming. 

“Betty,” he whispers and pauses, unsure how to even generate the words to continue.

“I know, Jug.” 

“What happens now?” 

_How do we do this? How do we not destroy ourselves through this?_

It is silent for another beat, and Jughead worries his mom will come try to help him or check on him, but he’s decided the risk doesn’t matter at this point. 

Finally, Betty says, “Maybe we wait. Everything is changing so fast. It could still change back. And I don’t want to make this harder for either of us.”

“I’m not sure it’s going to make a difference for me, Betts. I know that us is new, but… it’s not new in my hopes, exactly.” He looks at her intently, trying to soak in every perfect feature of her face. The shine of emotion in her eyes makes the green irises almost glow. He cups her face, a silent inquiry to pick up on the moment they lost by the windowsill. 

She closes her eyes, like she’s trying to break a spell. “I’m afraid if we go down this road, we will do things we can never take back.”

He wants to lean in and pull her down that road with him, kiss her to the point of no return. He had never believed there was any road for him but this one. 

But he would never do that if she said she was unsure. If she wasn’t certain she wanted it.

“I want whatever you want, Betty.”

“Trust me, Jug. I want… us. But I’m afraid that if we fight too hard, we’ll break this before we can ever have it.”

He tries to honor her words with full weight, to believe them, but they don’t hurt any less. 

Gladys honks, a brief beep. He takes a deep breath, memorizing as much as he can. 

“I guess our hourglass is empty,” Betty whispers, wrapping her arms around his torso again, burying her face near his collarbone. He hugs her back, but breaks quickly, knowing the longer he waits the harder it will be to leave.

“Bye, Betty.”

Once in the car, Gladys looks at him sidelong before reaching to shift into first gear. “So who’s the girl?”

Instead of answering, he reaches into his backpack and puts on his headphones. They don’t speak again until Buffalo.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this chapter is not super uplifting, and there is minimal Betty/Jughead interaction, but more of both will be coming soon, I promise! It drained me a little, emotionally, to write it, so especially for my own sake, more soft and fluffy moments are in store. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! I greatly appreciate all your comments and support, please leave me one if you have a moment! Your comments have meant so, so much to me and definitely helped me keep grinding this one out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii, this update came about a week after I wanted it to... this chapter was killing me for a long time and took forever to come together... and now it's over 10k words. hopefully, this is good news. enjoy!

Sleep in New York came pretty easily for the first couple of weeks, but as time drags into August, Jughead can’t settle. Instead, he’s lying on his frame-less twin mattress, thinking about the problem with his bedroom. 

He’s never really had his own space before, so even if the room is smaller than Veronica Lodge’s closet, it’s a new sensation. Neither the pull out sofa in Riverdale and Syracuse or the inflatable mattress that had to be compressed and resurrected every evening in Toledo had been ideal. There was probably a lot to be mined about his identity development through that lens, that even his most stable situations didn’t give him a distinct place of his own. But Jughead had already spent hours in therapy working to acknowledge the past, but not dwell, to make movements towards novelty. Future building.

Before they left for the city, Joaquin dragged him out to buy a twin mattress and sheet set. Jughead had the familiar knot of discomfort at the checkout of Bed Bath and Beyond, knowing that most people his age already had bought sheets at some point, or had them sent off in their college belongings, laundered and folded by mothers who knew how to fold fitted sheets. At the very least, those people had been in one of these stores before. They knew the difference between fabrics and thread counts.

The cashier interrupted his bout of self-pity with a question he couldn’t answer. “Didya check if you need regular twin or extra long? Don’t wanna buy regular if you need extra long, sweetie.” 

He glances at her name tag. Mabel. “Um, yeah I don’t know,” he mumbles, heat waterfalling down his neck in embarrassment. That was his unnamable fear, that he could somehow mess up this process, a seemingly simple independence. That he looked so desperately in need of parental assurance that _Mabel_ was taking it upon herself to offer assistance. 

Mabel clucked her tongue. “You’re gonna wanna figure that out, cause these right here are final sale. I don’t even know if I could exchange them if ya brought ‘em back.”

Jughead shamefully pulled out his phone and called Joaquin to check the size of the mattress. It was, after all, an extra long. “Sorry, gotta get the other size,” he apologized to the cashier and starts back toward the sheets.

The aisle was overwhelming; he had grabbed the other set because they were on sale, which was the only kind of consumer decision-making process Jughead learned from his parents. He took his phone out again and sent one of the more humiliating texts of his life.

 ** _I am a sad excuse for a person. I’m trying to buy sheets and this store has too many options and the cashier already sent me back for choosing wrong the first time. Send help. What is a thread count?_**

The immediate ellipses showing Betty’s impending message washed him with relief.

 _Oh no. You’re not at some horrible, gigantic home store are you? Don’t apologize, you are wise to come to me. First, double check that they’re the right size._

Jughead was well aware that he was now the idiot grinning in the middle of an aisle full of linens because he was having a real conversation with Betty Cooper about sheets. 

**_I’ve already been scolded on that basis. Extra long twin, but there’s a million varieties._**

_Okay, rule out anything too dark, it’s hard to tell when they need to be washed. Though maybe that’s a good thing for you?_

**_Who do you think I am, Archie Andrews?? You’re talking to the guy who has worn the same hat every day of his life. I wash things._ **

_You’re the one asking for sheet advice, take it or leave it. Do you like your sheets starched or soft?_

Jughead gravitates toward the lighter grays and whites. 

**_Soft, obviously. Why would you want starched sheets?_ **

_If you’re Alice Cooper, obviously. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard the phrase ‘crisp linens’._

He let out a loud bark of laughter, causing an employee restocking nearby to stare. Betty continues typing, guiding him to the softer knit options and helping him decide how many pillowcases are an appropriate amount for an adult to have. ( ** _I’m really only a starter adult, Betts._** )

The second time at the checkout, Mabel confirmed, “Good pick.”

The problem is not that he now has a real mattress and soft sheets that make him think of a specific beautiful woman every time he tugs them around himself. The problem is not that he has his own bedroom, but that wasn’t really the goal he had moved to New York to accomplish. Jughead had not imagined that in the first few weeks of his time in the city he would spend much time in that little cell, thinking about how happy he had been just to have Betty text him back during a minor breakdown in a Bed Bath and Beyond. 

During the many hours in which he cannot seem to write one more cover letter, craft one more submission, or get one single text from Betty that he doesn’t initiate himself, he’s become a little bit fixated on his bedroom. The walls are dirty, certainly, but could be fixed by paint at some point. He only has two sort-of furnishings: a dresser he found on the curb down the block and a makeshift bookshelf of cinderblock and planks of wood. 

It seems, after far too much analysis, to be the symbolic downfall of his rash decision making. Moving to an expensive, extremely competitive city for a girl who is definitely not ready to rehash and revive their romantic past was not going to sustain him. 

 

 

As if reading his mind across state lines, his phone rings with a call from his mom.

Gladys is a bar manager now, so she keeps more regular hours than in past years, but through high school, the threat was that he had to be asleep when she got home. It was rather pointless; her arrival would wake him. 

“Hiya, Jug. Was thinking of you tonight, had a real old friend of mine from high school swing through the bar. He lives in New York now, go figure.”

Jughead can hear some clattering, pictures her washing the dishes in her bright blue gloves. 

“Huh, um, cool, I guess. Did you just get home?”

“Yeah, yeah, just washing the dishes. Your sister hasn’t really figured that one out yet. She says it’s because you always did the chores and never let her build good habits but I think that’s a load of lazy BS.” 

He laughs, recalling the many ‘lessons’ he started giving eleven-year-old it’s-JB-now-not-Jellybean about how to load the dishwasher, which dryers in the basement didn’t dry or just ate your quarters, how to boil noodles. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”

“Well, anyway, I thought of ya because this friend of mine has a pretty nice restaurant he’s managing now, in Manhattan. I told him you might need a job and you’ve got some experience, so he said to ring him if you’re interested. But I didn’t want to assume, ya know. I mean, I know you moved there to find some work doing something a little more glam.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but Jughead’s more than familiar with her tactic. “I don’t have a job yet, so yeah, sounds great.”

“Alright, yeah, I’ll text it to ya. What exactly are you looking for, ya know, long term?”

“Still figuring it out. Something in publishing, ideally publishing things myself. It’s kind of a long game.”

Gladys ‘hmms’ audibly, a tic that often drives Jughead a little crazy, but he misses it all the same. “I’m proud of ya, Jug. I always hoped you’d get to spread your wings. Took me more than fifteen years to finally do that, and it’s a hell of a lot different when you’re not in the prime of your life and all.”

“Um, thanks. I think.”

She hums again, so he knows she’s gearing up for something more. “How’s ol’ Betty Cooper?”

 _There it is._ “I haven’t seen her much, actually. We live pretty far from each other.” He tries to keep his tone neutral, but Gladys has made it her mission in life to analyze and over-project her own life experience on him.

“If I’m being honest, and ya know that’s how I roll, that’s probably for the best. Ya need to focus on yourself right now. Give yourself some time to decide what’s the most important. Do all that young person exploration. You’ve been taking care of people for so long, Jug. I wanna see you taking care of yourself, alright?”

After an awkward pause, letting her comments settle, he asks about JB until he hears her yawn, and they say goodnight. He doesn’t want to think too much about his mom’s consistent ‘I’m not judging’ tone about Betty, but over the next week, as he gets the bartending job, as his online writing profile gets a few significant views, Betty’s radio silence leaves room from for his mom’s words to stick.

 

 

Caught in two simultaneous thoughts, he almost doesn’t see Betty enter the restaurant. The first is his third personal reminder of the week not to look noticeably annoyed at any tourists who ordered Manhattans and then giggle to themselves about it. Second, he suspects that his fellow bartender is deliberately slighting him by giving his station a faulty peeler. His orange curls are jagged, the fruit butchered by his attempts. The last thing he wants is to be looked at sideways by his manager.

Bartending was certainly an unexpected trade for the son of an alcoholic, but Jughead thought it suited him pretty well. There was a broad knowledge about alcohol but a disinterest, a detachment that made him a great bartender when he worked at a dive near campus in Syracuse. Now, in a somewhat swanky Italian place in SoHo, he’s paranoid about his orange curls requiring more finesse. 

He only sees Betty enter because he happens to be facing the entrance and he sees a flourish of blond hair in his periphery. Startling, the peeler gouges his finger. _Fuck._ Both relieved and disappointed that he cannot get her attention, he turns around to wash the wound. His coworker, a short but suave guy with a distinct fang tattoo on his forearm, pulls out a first aid kit. 

Jughead washes and dries his finger, trying to process the probability that Betty would walk into his workplace. They were nowhere near her apartment, and it was a Thursday night, which seemed like a strange time to venture downtown to eat Italian food alone. Securing the band aid, he returns to the bar to find his coworker has finished the Manhattans for the two women at his end of the bar.

“Sorry about that peeler man, I’ve been meaning to replace that one for weeks. Just toss it.” Jughead thanks him, feeling a little better about not having a reputation sullied by nepotism. 

Being a Thursday, it’s neither dead nor crowded, but Jughead stays occupied with orders from the tables, and it takes him a while to scan the room for Betty without being interrupted by new tasks. He wonders, with each drink order, if it could be hers. It rattles him a little, all of the subtle reminders that he no longer knows everything about her. 

Before he spots Betty at a table, he sees Sweet Pea walk in and has to curb the desire to duck behind the counter. Instead he turns to the first guests he can find and tries to pretend that he hasn’t just been struck with a chord of despair. Busying himself with another set of manhattans, he tries to reason his way out of the looming desolation he’s felt about Betty avoiding him for the past three weeks. In a moment of shame, he asked Veronica if Betty was doing alright and Veronica’s answer was a bit cagey. _Betty is super stressed about her job search, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I can barely get her to hang out with me in our own home._

The next half hour passes at a glacial pace with Jughead both trying not to watch what might be happening and sternly ignoring it. He masters use of the bad peeler with a few lemons and oranges. The brief glances he throws to their table show that Sweet Pea hasn’t been smiling or laughing, but maybe they were discussing serious things. Jughead makes a negroni and the guest sends back twice, and he tries not to scowl at the guest or suggest that perhaps he just order something different. 

Suddenly, he looks over at the table and they’re gone. It hasn’t been long enough for them to have already finished eating. Just as quickly as he makes the realization that they must have left without eating, Betty is sitting down in front of him, a pleased half smile lighting up her face. 

“Fancy finding you here, stranger,” Betty says, the corners of her mouth curling with smug amusement, making his heart skip a beat. She finishes her drink in such a way that Jughead thinks she’s probably had several, without any dinner. He fills a glass of water for her, then realizes he’s just grinning nervously and hasn’t responded to her at all. 

“You a regular around here?” He slides into the bit for armor against his own nerves. Betty’s smile grows wider. “Did you see me come in?” she asks a little slyly.

Jughead starts drying glasses for something to do with his hands. “Um, kind of. I mean, yes, but then I cut myself,” he holds up a finger and she winces. "Plus, you seemed preoccupied.” He feels himself blushing but hopes the dim lighting doesn’t betray it. “Why, did you see me?”

It’s Betty’s turn to blush. “I thought that the bartender looked an awful lot like you from afar, but I suspended belief that Jughead Jones would be… a bartender. What do I know, right?”

He smiles at her expressive embarrassment; he’s always loved how little her face hides her emotions. He can tell that she looks, beyond her embarrassment, relieved, which relaxes him. “No, you’re right. Trust me, the irony is not lost on me. But it turns out that there is some decent money in enabling the masses. But really, how did you end up at this place?”

A waitress approaches Betty with a plate of gnocchi and uncertainty. “Excuse me, I think this was yours? You moved from the table by the window?” Betty and the waiter exchange apologizes for the confusion, then she turns back to him sheepishly. 

“Sorry. No, I’m not exactly a regular. This is my break-up restaurant.” Jughead feels a surge of relief, which he swiftly berates himself for, and tries to keep his voice as even as possible. “So, this is your chosen destination for breaking hearts?” He resists the temptation to add _pretty fitting that yet again, I'm being paid to work at the symbolic dead end of your romances._

Betty takes a moment, digging into her food. “It started a while ago. I had this really embarrassing date like, four years ago where I left a guy in the lurch, so I took him here to buy him dinner and apologize. And tell him that I wasn’t ready to date him, which turns out to be a little bit much for having only been on half of a date with someone…” she trails off, realizing she’s rambling a little. Jughead laughs. “Only Betty Cooper would feel like she has to buy a kind of expensive dinner to soften the blow,” he teases. 

Actually, he has at least five more follow up questions, but he tries to play it cool and charming. “Well, if that’s the kind of night you’re having, I think you need another drink to go with your carbs.” Betty doesn’t respond for a moment. Instead, she tilts her head sideways and considers him intently. He’s blushing again, but strangely, he feels pretty confident about it. 

“This is a very bizarre alignment of the stars, but I’m really, truly, unbelievably glad to see you, Juggie. Also, I like a gin and tonic.” Hearing her call him Juggie is like putting on something worn, warm and comforting.

“Coming up.” He begins making her drink when he’s reminded by three new orders that he’s still working. It takes him a while to catch up. Every few seconds he glances at Betty, eating her gnocchi serenely, and trying to broach the subject of why she was here tonight. The pieces make sense: Sweet Pea probably left early when he realized Betty was dumping him. Still, he wants to hear it from her, maybe with some absurd hope that it was because of him. _That’s stupid, it’s absolutely not because of that. And yet._

He waits while a woman hems and haws about her drink order, gazing over the woman’s menu at Betty. She’s got her phone out, conceivably sending a text. Every so often she pauses to sip her drink or take a bite of her food. The past few weeks, he’s felt a little haunted by this new version of her; her hair more intensely golden, her entire figure more pronounced, her features somehow more intense. In his experience, all of this is a normal adaption of ones’ teenage body into an adult one, but even if he didn’t know Betty, if he were just catching a glimpse from her as a stranger from across the bar, he thinks he could easily fall in love with her on sight. 

Once things die down, Jughead returns to her, the question he’s been formulating ready on his tongue, but Betty starts first. “I’m sorry, Jug,” she says, “for seeming like I’ve been blowing you off. You’re not paranoid. I have ignored you a little. I mean, I am overwhelmed and all those things that I said. Alice is unbearable, texting me daily for updates about job leads. But I’ve also just been trying to sort myself out with a lot of personal life things, hence tonight.” She gestures, indicating a wide potential variety of things, but Jughead takes it as an in-road.

“I get it. But thanks for telling me. Do you… want to talk about it? You don’t have to, just, I’m here.” 

Betty’s smile is wistful. “I was dating him because I was trying to prove to myself that I’ve changed in specific ways. That I can be this far more fun and carefree person, but I realized that I didn’t need to date someone that I wasn’t actually interested in to know that, you know?”

Jughead nods, because he does know. “I dated someone for a while, a couple years ago. And the whole time I was just trying to remind myself that I could be that steady, reliable boyfriend type. A few months in I realized I loved her, like, as a person. But I wasn’t in love with her.”

Betty laughs, one that Jughead recognizes when she is relieved. “Honestly, I had that relationship, too, but it lasted a _year_. It ended at that table,” she points to a nearby booth. “But that one was harder. I didn’t get it over with until dessert.” 

Jughead wants to know every scrap of romantic history between their past and present, but he’s satisfied with the ease between them. He’s more than satisfied that neither of them can seem to keep a grin off their faces. 

They fall into uninterrupted conversation as the restaurant winds down to close, punctuated with Jughead washing and drying as they recount the last times each of them saw Archie. Jughead tells her about JB coming out to Riverdale last winter and Archie teaching them both to ski. He’d hated it, but JB loved the opportunity to flirt with Archie. Betty tells him how Archie and his dad started invited Alice and Betty to Thanksgiving dinner the year after the divorce, how it’s evolved into a drinking game between her and Archie over how tense Alice makes things and how hard Fred tries to diffuse it. Eventually, his coworker taps Jughead.

“I was gonna kick your friend out because we’re closing but it seemed like y’all were having a moment, so if you want to take off now, too, I don’t mind closing. I’ll tip you out.”

“Oh,” Jughead starts to protest, but also doesn’t want to reject his offer. “Thanks, man. I’ll return the favor this weekend.”

Betty gathers her things and Jughead rolls his stack of tips into his jeans pocket. “Are you going all the way home?” he asks, holding the door for her on the way out. Betty seems tired, and even a little tipsy as she sways through the doorway. 

“No, I mean, I’m going to stay with Toni. At my old home. It’s not a far walk. What about you? J train?”

He falls in step next to her, the warm August air blowing around them and reminding him of all the ways she smells different, yet still the same. “Yeah, eventually, but I was going to be gentlemanly and offer to walk you home.”

For the first time that evening, Betty looks hesitant. “I’ll be okay. I’ve lived here a long time.”

“I know, I’m not trying to be overbearing. Just thought you might like the company. Or, selfishly, I do.” He can tell she’s fighting back a grin and he’s bolstered by the knowledge that he can still do that. 

They wind their way north, Betty taking different routes to point out places she likes, or places she’s heard famous writers live. He listens, hands in his pockets because watching her point or swing her arms with her natural gait makes him itch to capture her hand in his. 

Fifteen minutes later, they reach Toni’s building. Betty presses the buzzer but doesn’t get let in for a moment, when Toni comes down to the entrance with an expression of wariness and almost motherly disappointment. 

“Hi Betty,” she greets with a hint of sternness, but her eyes are fixed on Jughead. He squirms internally, but tries to meet her with a smile. “Hey, Toni. Nice to see you again.” It comes off almost cheeky.

Toni opens the door wide and Betty steps in, slipping behind her friend and mouthing a wide eyed grimacing apology to him that requires him to bite back a grin. 

“Thanks for bringing her home, dude,” Toni says, and closes the door. 

 

 

He’s walking, or perhaps floating, to the subway when he gets a text from Betty.

 _hey “DUDE.” sorry about my overprotective punk rock mom back there._

**_It’s alright, I’d take that over Alice Cooper any day. Should I be worried that one of your best friends hates me?_ **

Jughead was okay not being liked, frankly, but it seemed a little counterintuitive not to try. There was some slight disappointment in that Toni actually seemed like someone he would like to be friends with. 

_she doesn’t hate you. she might kind of hate me right now, but she’ll get over it._

**_?? why_**

_honestly, I think she’s pissed that she didn’t succeed in setting me up with someone. veronica likes to brag that i’ll never date anybody long-term that she doesn’t approve of, and toni and v can get… competitive._

_**wait. did you date this guy because of a bet or something?**_

_no! I think veronica has been taunting her a little and she’s taking it out on anyone but me, trying to prove she’s the better friend._

Jughead shakes his head as he boards his train, amused but not wanting to get into the intricacy of their friendship dynamics. The balloon of hope in his chest is inflated to the point of bursting as he rides back to Brooklyn. That night, Jughead doesn’t sleep, but instead of internal ruminations on having a room of his own, he opens his laptop to tries and work them out. 

 

 

That weekend, they make a date to go to MoMA. Well, not a date, since Jughead finds out that it’s actually Hermione Lodge’s donor status getting him, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin into a exhibition preview event. He’s wearing his interview outfit, a blue collared shirt that matches his eyes and black slacks instead of jeans, because despite Betty’s reassurances that this wasn’t a formal affair whatsoever, he also knows that the crowd with museum memberships are at least above a flannel or jeans with holes of natural, rather than fashionable causes. At least, he thinks this is probably true, but he’s more concerned about dressing to overcome Veronica’s criticism than anyone else’s. 

He spots Veronica in the lobby immediately, and he can’t hide a smirk when she looks up from her phone, her eyes bulging and jaw dropping with approval. 

“Whatever you have to say, please, get it out now while we don’t have an audience,” Jughead pleads.

“Not that I need permission, Jug. God, I feel like I shouldn't even call you Jughead, dressed like that. Have you lifted the lifetime ban on Forsythe? I feel like you could be rocking that edge professionally. You should look at a daycare roster in Park Slope, Forsythe has nothing on those little idiots.” 

Jugheads sighs, motioning for her to continue. “Come on, I know you’re got more jabs than that. Really, this is your stage.”

“That was hardly a jab, Pendleton.” She winces. “Nevermind on that one, it makes you sound like every boy I tried to date in prep school.” 

Jughead is startled by a hand clapping him on the shoulder, and turns to see Kevin. “Honestly V, I wish you would dive back into that dating pool now so that I can try to find my first three trust fund husbands,” Kevin says, which Jughead stifles a laugh at, still unsure of how much Kevin might be joking.

“So what’s the deal here? Are Veronica and I the gay parent chaperones? Are we supposed to discourage canoodling? Are there free drinks at this event?”

“Kev,” Veronica warns. Jughead looks at her and shrugs. It had been pretty obvious to him from the invite that Veronica and Kevin were there to act as buffers. 

“Don’t tease Betty, I’ve already tread that path— ” Veronica suddenly dips her voice to a hush, “Oh, here she is.”

Betty’s hair is in a ponytail, but the ends are straight, without the signature curl Jughead can still imagine coiled softly in his first while—he cuts the thought off because she spots them, and the smile he’s expecting doesn’t light up her face. She approaches them with an extra neutral expression, as if she would rather turn around and leave. 

“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” 

She’s not, but Jughead doesn’t know what to do or say about the fact that he’s not sure Betty is okay. Once, he would have known with an animal-like instinct, what he was supposed to say or do, but even subtle gestures seemed too intimate or presumptuous. Instead, Jughead feels stiff, robotic, unable to portray any kind of pleasure or reassurance.

“Nonsense, B. We all just got here! Shall we?” Veronica pivots and leads them to the museum employee scanning guest passes. Betty hesitates eye contact with him before asking both Jughead and Kevin about their days. Kevin launches into a tirade about his new supervisor, which Betty nods sympathetically to, but doesn’t ask any follow up questions. 

Jughead tunes out, wondering if he could slow his steps and just drift behind them. It’s a selfish impulse, a wounded dog kind of move, and he’s only tempted out of desperation that it would probably work. Jughead curses himself for the single slow step he begins to take. _This is not about you, something else happened, it’s not about you, something else happened…_ Jughead uses the mantra to keep his strides on pace, his face neutral and attuned to Kevin’s monologue.

They ride a series of escalators up to the top floor, and halfway up Kevin makes a pointed move toward Veronica. Jughead chances a soft smile at Betty, which she returns.

“Hi,” she says weakly, tinged with apology.

“Hi,” he responds, his own frustration soothed by her softness. 

Without speaking, Jughead and Betty let Kevin and Veronica speed ahead when they reach the fifth floor, off to get the best Instagrams of the artist’s neon pieces. 

Betty walks slowly next to him, looking anywhere but at him. Jughead wants to ask what’s wrong, but he’s intimidated by being so public. Perhaps, this is also an element of New York that Jughead isn’t used to, how easily a private moment can be transgressed. 

_Say something._ The pressure builds as they enter the gallery, pausing to read the introduction excerpts, taking the appropriate amount of time at each work. Even though Jughead is interested in the exhibit, it’s hard to process anything beyond why the pendulum has swung so far from comfort to awkwardness. 

One of the first works is a structure of four walls with video cameras installed at each corner, projecting the recorded image to a television visible only facing another wall. Adults and a few kids experiment, jumping in an out of frame of the cameras that can see them. Jughead moves to the opposite side as Betty, needing a moment to figure out how to break the silence without presuming that she wants to tell him anything. Despite the fact that he and Betty have navigated far stranger and more distressing moments than an emotional conversation in a museum gallery, Jughead has never felt this level of anxiety about it. Fear, yes. Sadness. Anger. But they’d always been honest and forthcoming; he never learned how to pry her open because she had always done it all on her own. He looks down at the TV screen showing a different wall and sees her, alone on the monitor. Her shoulders start to tremble, her breath coming forcefully but shaking, a hand swiping her cheek. In the second it takes for Jughead to register Betty’s tears, he goes to her. 

Maybe she sees him coming on her own monitor because she turns around unfolds her arms, letting Jughead embrace her softly, one arm around her back and the other just barely cradling her head. He realizes she can probably hear his heart pounding, and she pulls away after a few moments.

“Betts, what’s going on?” 

She’s pushing the tears back into her eyes, taking a few breaths before she answers. “It’s stupid, I don’t know why I’m reacting like this. I just didn’t get this job at _The Atlantic_ I was really hoping for and they emailed me right before I got here, so I just didn’t have time to process any of it.”

Jughead’s hands are still on her back, so he moves them to Betty’s shoulders, rubbing them in a way he hopes is soothing. 

“That’s not stupid, that’s a huge fucking disappointment and it sucks. I’m really sorry.” Another tear rolls down her cheek and he resists the urge to catch it with his thumb, a line of intimacy he shouldn’t cross.

“I mean, it was only a fellowship, but even then I wonder if I was anywhere near qualified. I should probably be happy I even got the interview, so it’s dumb that I’m so upset. I need to be able to handle this kind of disappointment.”

“Seriously, Betty, it’s not dumb. You’re allowed to be sad about it. Of course you are qualified. They might not get to know how damn qualified you are, but someone else will.” 

Betty sniffles and smiles for a fraction. “And I’m sorry that I made this whole thing seem weird. I really did want to come and see this exhibit, and I thought you would like it, but now I’m ruining the whole thing because I just want to eat ice cream in my bed.”

“Betts,” Jughead steps back once before he is tempted to do more idiotic things, like tuck a wisp of hair behind her year. “It’s fine. If you want to go home, you should just go. I can tell Kevin and Veronica.”

Betty hesitates, glancing across the gallery, but there are too many large artworks for their friends to be visible. “Actually, this might sound pathetic, but do you want to come with me? I don’t really want to be alone.”

Jughead’s heart starts drumming again and he can the feel a dopey grin creep across his face. “Of course, I would be honored.” But what truly makes him feel honored is that Betty mirrors him with an equally oversized grin of her own. 

 

 

As they walk to the 6, Betty recounts all of the interviews she’s had lately, bemoaning the fact that she rarely even gets the solid rejection.

“Usually, I don’t even know for certain that it's over, I just assume that once they’ve ignored a few weeks of follow up emails that they want nothing to do with me. Even these newer, online platforms that I expected to be less elite and uptight, I get nothing back!”

Jughead nods, familiar with the same process. “I’ve been trying to write new stuff, keep up with what kind of content so many of those kind of places want, but it’s tiresome to write what you think people want to read, not what you want to write about.”

Betty sighs, exasperated but seeming relieved to have moved from sadness to anger. “Exactly. It’s made me wonder if this is really what I want to do in the first place.”

This surprises Jughead, who has never been able to picture Betty as anything but a hardline investigator after their years of high school journalism. “Really? Would you do something else?”

She shrugs. “Every time I talk to my mom or dad, they tell me such mixed things. My dad will passive aggressively point out that it’s hard in the city, it would be much easier to find a spot at a smaller paper, or even in a smaller city, with less competition. He’s right, but clearly misses the point that I don’t want to write for a tiny town paper like _The Register_ at this point in my career. My mom just keeps telling me how hard it is, but that I shouldn’t give up, which is infuriating to hear over and over again.”

“What do you think they would say if you decided not to be a journalist?”

“That’s the problem. I worry I’ve made myself do this because of them. Yes, I was good at it in high school and college, but I think about why. If I did that subconsciously, trying to make myself the daughter they could be proud of, since they felt like they messed up so badly with Polly." 

There was a time when Jughead worried if Jellybean would grow up feeling the same way. It was, in many ways, the root of the best and worst decisions of his life. But as they enter the subway, he tries to dissolve the thoughts of those decisions. After all, the years and miles had collapsed into this moment, this universe, where he and Betty sit snugly next to each other, even though the train is only half full.

“Our parents probably never had that luxury, you know, to be ‘just figuring things out’,” he muses, remembering his conversation with his mom.

“You’re right. But my parents, or my dad at least, had a lot just handed to him. My mom, a house, an inherited business. Things were figured out for them.”

“My mom got pregnant. I think that was pretty much it. She didn’t have time, she just had me.” Jughead’s voice wavers involuntarily. 

Betty winds her hand around the crook in Jughead’s elbow. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to, her expression is enough.

Gladys knew what she was talking about. But knowing his mom, he wasn’t sure she ever felt the way Jughead did when Betty looked at him like that. Like she could make him safe. And that was something he could never write a cover letter for or show off on a resume. 

 

 

Betty is wearing polar bear fleece pants and microwaving popcorn while Jughead digs through the freezer. 

“I know there is mint chocolate chip in there somewhere, unless someone has been pilfering my ice cream,” she encourages. 

Jughead, crouched on his hands and knees to rifle through the depths of the overloaded freezer drawer, is coming up with many cartons of almost empty ice cream. “Why do you like leaving like, one scoop of ice cream in each of these?”

“Because, then, I can make a sampler of all my leftover flavors when I don’t know which kind I want.” She says this like it’s common sense. Granted, Jughead is not liable to judge anyone’s ice cream intake, but the procedure of it seems like a lot of work and self control.

“You are a strange one, Cooper.”

The popcorn starts popping loudly and his stomach rumbles loud enough that Betty raises an eyebrow. “Did you eat dinner? Do you want to order a pizza?”

Jughead starts piling the single scoop ice cream containers on the counter, ready to assemble the variety sundae. “Betty, don’t patronize me. Obviously I ate dinner and obviously I also want to order pizza.”

She laughs for the first time that night, and Jughead resists pinching himself to wake from this dream. “I’ll call then,” and they get to work on the ice cream.

 

 

The pizza arrives just as they’ve finished the eclectic ice cream sundae and started watching a documentary about dogs, which Betty chose for a cathartic cry and Jughead acquiesced because, well, it’s a documentary about dogs. 

After paying the delivery person, Betty sets the pizza down on the coffee table and ignores a call from Alice, the third since they left the museum. 

“I can’t talk to her because I know she’s going to bring up how I’m doing financially. Then she’ll try to give me some money, but I don’t really want whatever strings are probably attached.”

A few minutes later, Jughead has the idea. Another few minutes later, he works up the courage to actually present it. “Um, Betts. If you need a job, you know, until someone definitely offers you one, I could see if they need any servers at my restaurant.”

Betty pauses the screen. “Wait, really? Would it be weird for you to ask?

Jughead shrugs. “No, I think they like me, and I mean, I know it’s not nearby, but it would be easy. If you have to work weekends, I sure Toni would let you stay at her place.”

Unexpectedly, she scoots across the couch to hug him. “Thank you, Jug. That would be amazing.” When she pulls away, she doesn’t move back to her side of the couch.

 

 

Jughead wakes to find Betty asleep, her head rested on his arm. The only light is from the Netflix screen, asking him if he’s still watching. He taps his phone, which glows a bold 1:37 back at him. 

For a minute, he considers going back to sleep. But even through fatigue and sugar-brain fog, he’s certain about how much Betty’s back is going to hurt in the morning if she stays as she is, however delightfully slumped against him. 

“Betts,” he mumbles, sliding his arm behind her gently. She hums, moving a little, but really just nuzzling against him in a way he never wants her to stop doing, so it’s a bit agonizing to prompt her again.

“Betty, I think you’re going to want to go to bed.”

She murmurs again, but starts to sit up, and he uses his arm to support her. “What was that?” he teases lightly.

“It’s so far,” Betty says, her voice thick with sleep. “Help, Juggie.”

He helps her to her feet, down the hall, and onto her bed. Before he pulls away she grabs hold of his hands, bringing it to her mouth and just barely pressing her unpursed lips to the knuckles. In days to come, Jughead won’t be sure what it was—a kiss? A sleep-driven fumble? What he will remember is her whispering, as he said goodnight, _stay_. 

Jughead knows she means on the couch, but for the first time since moving to New York, he feels sure that someday she could mean more.

 

 

____________________________________________

 

**March, sophomore year**

 

Things in the Cooper house are functioning normally by Betty’s parents’ standard, but every morning, Betty slides out from under her cotton candy pink comforter and stares up at her ceiling, painted 'ballet slipper' according to the paint chips, wondering if she will ever feel normal again.

Downstairs, her dad reads his own newspaper, as well as the _Wall Street Journal_. He nods at Betty, but otherwise ignores the routine that plays out in front of him. Alice hands her a bowl of yogurt, granola, and fruit, which Betty accepts with a murmured thanks. Halfway through her breakfast, Alice places a tiny bowl, big enough only for Betty’s doses of mood stabilizers, which she swallows with a gulp of her orange juice. At precisely a quarter past seven, Betty slips on her coat and boots while Alice starts the Volvo. She isn’t allowed to walk to school with Archie anymore. 

 

 

At first, of course, Betty fought everything. The night she snuck out to say goodbye to Jughead at the Twilight, her parents beat her home. The lecture had been predictable: _your sister’s just been in a terrifying accident, you know better, we expect more of you, there will be consequences, if we so much as see you touch that Jones boy…_ That night, she’d been too emotionally empty, a husk of confusion and fury at their authoritarianism. But gradually, she pushed back.

First, they’d taken her phone and replaced it with one connected it to track her location. She wasn’t allowed to make or take any calls from unprogrammed callers. Remaining on the Vixens was permitted, so long as practices were pre-scheduled and she was never driven to or from practice except by Alice or Hal. She was allowed to continue work on the Blue and Gold as an elective during school hours only. The prescriptions were written for her without any appointments or evaluations. She hadn’t minded the pills at first, right after Jughead left. They probably helped some, even if it really just felt like all her grief was still buried, wrapped in smothering wads of cotton. 

The phone was the first real issue. Veronica gave her a burner phone she found in some of her dad’s old things, but it was old and didn’t work very well. She was finally able to call Jughead almost three weeks after he left. The reception was bad, but she managed to give him her new number. They could text, occasionally, but Betty had to delete their conversations so her parents wouldn’t find them. Still, it made her start to hide the meds under her tongue and spit them out when she went upstairs to ‘brush her teeth.’

Veronica also managed to negotiate one less Vixens practice during the winter, since basketball season was less demanding and they usually kept a lot of their routines the same. They’d spend the hour in the library or the Blue and Gold, trying to figure out the missing piece from homecoming night. 

At first, the plan had simply been to talk to Jason Blossom. Betty lured him out of history under the guise of doing a student athlete profile for the paper, but Jason didn’t know anything about what happened to Polly. He had no idea why her parents decided to institutionalize her and was equally desperate for answers. Then, after winter break, Jason didn’t come back to school. 

Cheryl said he transferred to a more competitive private school even further upstate to get a new start after all of the drama from the accident and FP’s trial, but she wouldn’t say which school. There were only a few possibilities, but none of the administrators Betty called would disclose student enrollment. Even when she’d pretended to be a college recruiter, they’d all asked for specific request forms. 

By February, Alice let slip at dinner that Polly was scheduled to come home by the beginning of April. Betty was tired. She started swallowing the pills again, hoping the monotony would fast forward things, but instead, it felt like no time was passing at all. Days blurred together without the energy of her anger to keep them distinct. 

The first week back on the drugs, Betty finds she can easily slip into a state of vivid daydreaming. During family dinner, she imagines going to the Twilight for the first showing of the summer. She’s in Fred Andrews' truck, the third wheel to Veronica and Archie, when FP’s Ford pulls up next to them, Jughead in the driver’s seat. During her elective hours in the Blue and Gold, she spends hours imagining him bursting in, pressing her back up against the file cabinets. She can feel the drawer handles digging into her back, but can’t feel the way he kisses her; it’s hard to feel what’s never happened.

This particular morning, as Alice drives the two minutes to Riverdale High, Betty’s thinking about walking into school to find Jughead standing in front of her locker, as if he waits there every morning to walk with her to class. Of course, when she does turn down the hallway to her locker, no one is there. She stores her bag and pulls out her books for Algebra, but remembers she left her history notebook in the Blue and Gold.

Her heart stops when she peers inside the room and sees a tall, black haired boy wearing decidedly secondhand jeans with his back turned. _Am I hallucinating? Wake up, Betty._ But he’s still there. She turns the doorknob and he turns around, eliciting a gasp from them both.

It’s Jason Blossom.

 

 

 

“I’m really sorry if I scared or confused you. I had to dye my hair. It’s… a long story.”

Betty feels like she’s seen someone come back from the dead, even though she had no reason to suspect that Jason was anything but alive and at whatever private school Cheryl had lied about.

“I’ve got time. I mean, you came here to… talk to me, right?” Betty asks, starting to pace. Jason is seated next to her desk, but she’s can’t seem to focus enough to just sit down across from him, her mind is jumping from question to question. 

“I guess, I don’t know how much you have figured out. But I found Polly.”

Betty had all but assumed this, but she nodded for him to continue. “And? I’ve got nothing. I’m practically in an institution myself.”

“I found out a lot of stuff after the accident. Stuff that, even if your parents hadn’t sent Polly away, would have become a problem.”

For most of first period, Jason distracts Betty with the revelation that their families were related, branching off only three generations before them, making Jason and Cheryl their third cousins. 

“Makes sense why our parents were never thrilled about you two dating,” she muses, but Jason furrows his brow. 

“It’s not as big a deal as it sounds,” he defends. Betty decides not to press further, though she’s already mentally filing away a google search for later.

“But how did that tell you where Polly was?”

“It didn’t. I think my parents found out first, I’m not sure how, but my mother started threatening to send me away, to keep me far from the situation and make sure it got… handled. Instead, I left. I heard about this cooperative farm upstate, and I was thinking of volunteering there for a while after graduation anyway.” The secondhand clothes begin to make sense, and his hair, if he’s not trying to be noticed by his parents or sister. 

Jason continues. “At the farm, I met this girl who escaped from this wildly backwards institution not too far from here. The girl said these nuns do all kinds of extremely uncouth practices to mentally ill young people. I immediately thought Polly had to be there.”

“What’s it called?” Betty asks, opening her computer to search it. 

“They don’t exactly have a website. But it’s called The Sisters of Quiet Mercy. But there’s more. I asked this girl about it for a while, seeing if she knew anything about Polly. It took a while, because Polly wasn’t on her wing, the ‘mental disturbance’ ward or something. But finally, the girl remembered someone who met Polly’s description in the ‘ward for unwed mothers.’”

Polly was pregnant. 

Her parents hadn’t let Betty visit Polly at the hospital.

The doctors told her parents. Her father yelling into the phone.

An unwed mother, bearing a child from the shunned branch of a secret family tree.

“Betty?” Jason leans closer, concerned that she’s been staring, blankly and wide eyed at the floor. 

_If you so much as touch that Jones boy._

“Betty, I’m going to get her out of there, and I’d really like your help.”

But Betty had just been waiting. Polly was coming home in April. If Polly left whatever the twisted convent was, she wouldn’t be coming home, baby or not.

“They’re your niece or nephew, Betty.” 

She knows this. She knows it will be better for Polly. Hell, after the past few months, it would be better for herself to get out of her toxic household. 

“Let me think about it. Do you have a number I can call?”

Jason bites his lip, obviously hoping she would have said yes already, but reaches across the desk and scrawls a number on one of her post-its. 

“Make it soon. I can’t stay here long without being noticed.” With that, Jason leaves, a few minutes before the bell for the end of first period rings. 

 

 

The next morning, Betty tucks the pills under her tongue. There are no easy daydreams to slip into to drown out her mother’s prattling, so she picks through her plan.

On the way to Vixen’s practice, she begs Veronica to give Cheryl a twenty minute excuse so that she can slip into the Blue and Gold office. She calls his number, praying he’ll pick up. 

“Hey, Betts. What’s up?” Jughead is cheerful, surprised. 

“Hi, Jug.” She knows he’ll hear the false veneer of her greeting and braces for how to word her question.

“What’s wrong?”

Betty sits on her desk, wishing for the umpteeth time that he were just sitting across from her. “Jason found Polly.” She winds through the story, shortening as much as she can.

“Jug, if I help him, I have no idea when I’ll see Polly again. But she has to go. I have to let her go. Don’t I? God, my parents will kill me.”

For a minute, she just listens to Jughead breathe. “God, Betts, this is so fucked. I obviously have no idea how hard this is for you.”

“What about your mom? Like, when she took Jellybean. It was the right thing, right?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Yeah, it was the right thing.”

There is a moment of silence, and Betty knows she should go, but it’s hard to hang up with him. “I’m in the Blue and Gold,” she says.

“God, I miss that place. We don’t have a newspaper here.”

“You’ll always have a desk here. Have you talked to your mom about what happens when your dad gets out this fall?”

There is a short pause before Jughead says, “Yeah, actually, I was going to tell you about that.”

Betty’s heart starts to beat uncomfortably, a shiver of dread rippling through her entire body. “Tell me about what? She doesn’t want you to come back?”

“Betts, my dad is getting out of prison. I don’t really have the bandwidth to deal with that. I’ve been either taking care of him or sidestepping him for years. If he doesn’t have his shit figured out, I can’t pay for it anymore.”

“But your dad is going to be fine! He can’t drink in prison!” Betty regrets her words as soon as they slip out. She knows it’s not that easy. 

“It’s more than that. My school in Toledo is actually pretty good, despite the lack of newspaper. And JB is about to start middle school. I’m not saying I’m never coming back. I’m going to try to visit Archie this summer, okay?” His voice is strained, but she doesn’t care. 

“I can’t talk about this right now.” She hangs up the phone. 

 

 

The Sisters of Quiet Mercy inspires more trepidation than Betty anticipated. There are trimmed hedges and gargoyles, as if sheltered in the English countryside, but far more sinister. Her feet feel like they are growing roots onto the pathway as she moves through the plan in her head. It’s not an elaborate plan, it feels like a crude and teenage prank, but the possible repercussions send Betty digging her nails into her palms in stress. 

At the sign in desk, she says she’s Polly Cooper’s sister, Elizabeth. The nun looks at her over her glasses. “There is nothing in Ms. Cooper’s file about a sister.”

Betty, always thinking ahead of her parent’s hoops, pulls out a forged note and her birth certificate. “Yes, my mother forgot to put me on her visitation list. This is my proof of identity and a note from her. Will that be sufficient?” The nun sucks her teeth, but eventually gives Betty a sharp nod.

“We will send her out to the garden to see you. The fresh air is so important.”

Betty is lead out the back door and starts scanning the edge of the property, but she can’t see any sign of Jason. She wonders how long they have before the suspicious nun at the front desk decides to call her parents. Hal and Alice would never spend money on a place that would do a half-assed job at keeping their deep, dark secrets safe. 

“Betty?”

She turns to see Polly and has to shake the feeling that this is another daydream, fuzzy at the edges, another diversion from American History. But her sister steps forward and holds Betty at the bend in her arms.

“I can’t really hug you without the twins in the way, but it’s so good to see you!” 

“Twins?” Betty asks, breathless, forgetting their urgency for a moment. The nun is finally retreating to the door, but Betty has a feeling that they will be watched relentlessly. 

“I know,” Polly smiles, but it slips quickly. “Betty, I need you to help me save my babies,” she whispers.

Betty pulls Polly to her side and walks toward the edge of the garden, keeping her eyes peeled for a sign from Jason. “Polly, we’re going to get you out, but I need you to follow my directions closely.”

Polly tenses, but plays it off quickly, like stepping on an unexpected stone. “Jason? Is he here?”

As if she summoned him, Betty sees the marker, a Riverdale blue bundle of pom-pom strands, poking out of the brush about twenty feet ahead. “I’ve missed you so much, Poll. But I want you to be happy and I want your babies to be safe. Call me when you can. When we pass this next tree, I need you to run. You won’t have to go too far, Jason is parked out on a service road. You should get to him by the time they notice.”

Polly looks dazed, but nods. “Wait until Sister Gertrude looks away. Try to slip in near those other visitors so she doesn’t realize anything. These people are like hawks.”

Betty turns to keep Sister Gertrude in her periphery. Polly keeps talking. “I’m sure mom and dad have been awful, but don’t let them punish you for what I’ve done. You can stand up to them. They won’t want to lose you, too.” 

Betty feels the tear trickle down her face before she even realizes that she’s crying. “It’s so empty in that house without you.” 

Polly pulls Betty into a hug that Betty tries to imprint in her physical memory, resisting the sobs crawling up her throat. Tears spill down her face, hot and angry at the realization of everything she’s had to say goodbye to in such a short time. 

But just as quickly, Betty reminds herself what she has to do. Flicking her eyes back to Sister Gertrude’s post at the door, she sees the nun turn to open the door. It might be a second or a minute, but there are no second chances. 

“I love you,” Betty whispers. “Now run, Polly. Go.”

 

 

Like the night in October, her parents know what’s happened before she makes it home. She’d left her phone at the public library, but when her parents’ texts went unanswered, when the sisters called them, Hal and Alice had driven out to the convent in search of the Cooper daughters. Betty was already on the bus back to the library to collect her phone. 

As Betty walks up to her house, she sees Alice on the doorstep, her perfect makeup smudged or washed away entirely by her tears. Every light is on, the windows glowing over the settling dusk. In the living room, she can see the sheriff, Clifford and Penelope Blossom, her father. 

Surprised that her mom hasn’t already started screaming, she approaches slowly. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I had to do it.”

Alice shakes her head and pats the space on the step. “No. Don’t go in there. Stay with me, sweetheart.” Betty is a little taken aback by her mother’s tenderness, but a glance at her father’s profile, red-faced and tight-lipped, tells her more than anything else.

“The convent was dad’s idea, then?”

Alice nods and dabs her eyes. “I knew about it. I’ve never told you this, Betty. But I got… in trouble, in high school. Like Polly. I couldn’t afford anything except to give the baby up for adoption, and the sisters were the only ones who offered help to girls like me.”

The inkling that Alice hadn’t always been the pearled and coiffed future PTA mother cracks open with a flood of questions and answers in one breath, but before Betty can ask, Alice continues. “Your father is going to spend some time away from us. I want to find your sister, but I don’t want to push her further away. I’ve lost two children. I can’t lose you, too, Betty.”

Betty wants to hold her mom, to reassure her, but she can’t forget Polly’s words. That she has power. So she rolls her shoulders back. “You’ll never lose me, mom, but I won’t take any more meds unless I get them from a doctor. Myself. I need you to stop tracking me and driving me to school and monitoring my social life.”

Alice considers this, glancing to the the group in the living room. “Alright,” she says softly. “But I need you to be honest with me. Tell me where you’re going. Who you’re with. I don’t want to drive you away, but I won’t let anything happen to you, like with Polly. There will still be consequences. And if the anxiety attacks come back, we will go to Dr. Waters. Understood?”

Betty nods and rests her head on Alice’s shoulder. “Can I go to Pop’s?”

“No, you’re grounded, Elizabeth. You put your sister in grave danger today. You were not honest with me. But you can crawl up that damn ladder to your bedroom before I tuck it into the highest corner of our garage and send these imbeciles out of my house.” 

Just like that, Alice Cooper is back, steel-toed threats and all. But Betty sees a page turning. Even alone in her suffocatingly pink bedroom with no Polly to creep across the hall and seek comfort from, even though she can’t think about Jughead’s revelation, it won’t be forever. For the first night in months, Betty doesn’t dream at all.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The museum exhibit they see at the MoMA is Bruce Nauman, which I saw when I was in NY in the fall. The piece Jughead describes is called Public Room, Private Room.
> 
> I wanted to finish this chapter before I started my next quarter of grad school, but that didn't happen. Because my school schedule is very intense, I can't promise a consistent update timeline but I can promise that I won't forget about this story!
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving your kudos and thoughtful comments! I am a comment junkie and would love love love to hear if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> also, you can find me on tumblr at @iconic-ponytail where I have finally (!) made a post for this story


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, I have to start by thanking you for the love and enthusiasm this first lil riverdale fic of mine has received both since I published it and especially in the last few weeks. I really, really like writing this story and every comment and kudos and recommendation has meant the world to me. Please enjoy this next chapter!

The summer after seventh grade, Betty spends two months at Girl Scout camp. She learns how to classify tree species, builds a perfect fire in A-frame or Log Cabin, uses cartography codes, and distinguishes bird calls. In the cool lakes of Northern Vermont, she masters the breaststroke after years of fear of leaving her nose unplugged. Her cabin-mates nominate her “Most Likely to Become President’ and “Best S’more.” On the last two nights, after a seven day wilderness trip, the girls pile into the basement of the lodge and watch all the best 80s teen classics: _Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Say Anything._ Without a doubt, it is Betty’s favorite summer of her life.

Polly, newly licensed to drive, picks Betty up from the camp bus in the Riverdale High parking lot and drives them to Pop’s. Her sister beams with excitement about the coming school year, about the River Vixens, about Chuck Clayton _talking_ to her. Betty isn’t completely sure what _talking_ entails, but the way Polly describes, he sounds like her own personal Jake Ryan from _Sixteen Candles._ They order milkshakes and fries, and when Betty gets up to grab a napkin dispenser for their table, she collides with someone tall enough that she doesn’t see their face first. 

“Oh my god, Betty! You came out of nowhere. You alright?”

She steadies herself on the booth to focus, recognizing the voice, but not the sudden materialization of her very own John Hughes-ian heart-throb. Her face burns like the sunburn she’d gotten the first week of camp, noting the extra five inches Jughead has on her now. His hair has grown out, floppy on top, waves falling out of his hat. He’s wearing a jacket and a flannel in August, but it strikes her less as a silly Jughead thing and more like a statement, more like John Bender, intentionally sticking out. Of course, she melts just little more, knowing that Jughead doesn’t actually have the jagged edges of a loner. Despite his dad being a bit of a drunk jerk, and even though Jug talks back to Reggie Mantle and mutters sarcastic comments to teachers, he’s never been anything but sweet to her. Even now, she notes Jellybean at a booth across the diner, kicking her little feet against the booth as she happily eats the onion rings that Jughead likely bought for her. 

“Umm, Betty? You okay? Did the Girl Scouts bodysnatch you or something?”

Betty snaps back, “Oh. Right,” and fakes a laugh, still overwhelmed by her unexpected attraction to _Jughead Jones._

After a minute, she sits back down, and Polly misses everything because she’s texting. Betty pretends to listen to Polly recount the _crazy_ parties she got invited to at the Blossom mansion, but it’s hard to concentrate. She can’t _like_ Jughead; he’s her best friend’s best friend. One of her own best friends. But, she realizes, feeling sage and beyond her years: they’re still pretty young. In two years, they’ll be sophomores like Polly, sneaking out on weekends, taking dates to dances. It’s hard to picture Jughead doing those things, but it’s hard to imagine it for herself, either. But maybe, someday, she’ll have her high school romance. Maybe Jughead could be it.

 

 

 

It’s Betty’s second weekend shift, the Friday before Labor Day, and two patronizing men had just given her meticulous directions about their martinis. Betty needs to check on two other tables, but she knows she’s going to wait for the drinks to be finished and make sure the suits are satisfied so she doesn’t have to suffer any escalating bullshit. 

“I’m sorry about these,” she prefaces, stepping up to the bar. “I need one gin martini, very dry, shaken. No olive.”

Jughead nods, so she rattles off the next. “The other one is a vodka martini, extra wet. And dirty.” Cringing at the unintended double entendre, Betty feels her throat close up a little bit as Jughead dissolves into a full-bodied laugh.

“I can do wet and dirty for you, Betty.” He winks gratuitously, too goofy to be a serious come on, but goofy enough that it still thrills her just a little. 

Betty’s not sure if it’s just years of sensory Jughead deprivation, but one reason she finds it hard to tear herself away from the bar is how infuriatingly hot he looks when he’s moving both fluidly and meticulously. It’s not the same as when she would watch him write in the Blue and Gold office. Drink-making lacks the intensity and passion on his face when he’s in the middle of a good writing streak. Still, the fact that she can see his forearms flex as he pours, the ease of motion in everything from the shaker to the detailed work of making lemon curls or placing lavender garnishes, she can hardly tear her eyes away. 

The shift manager, a guy who, despite appearing gentle and agreeable, goes by Fangs, nudges her arm and gestures to a shot he’s poured. Annoyed that he’s interrupted her thinly veiled excuse to stare at Jughead, she snaps, “What the hell is this?”

“Relax, Betty. It’s a new game I’m inventing. Every time I catch you ogling our boy Jughead tonight, you have to take a shot.” 

Betty reconsiders her initial assessment of Fangs as benign. She hisses back, “Don’t be ridiculous, I am not _ogling_. Also, I’m not going to drink during my shift.”

Fangs shrugs. “Whatever. Let me know when you’re ready to drink yourself out of this whole river-in-Egypt situation.”

Betty rolls her eyes back at him. “I’m not in denial. Why do you want me to drink this?”

“Out of hopes that maybe you’ll get drunk enough to do something about your crush."

Betty slides the shot back to him, watching the vodka slosh over the edges. “Not going to happen for a million reasons, but I’ll take your challenge and crush it. And not that you’ll need to know, but I only take tequila shots.”

Fangs is deeply amused. “Classy. I’ll start slicing the limes.”

Jughead serves up the martinis a moment later. “What are you two talking about?”

Betty tries to think of something quickly, but her mind goes blank because a lock of hair has fallen halfway into Jughead’s left eye. Fangs, however, notes her vacant gaze and steps in quickly. “I was trying to convince Betty to write my number on the receipt of the martini boys over there. I’m paying her in shots. Tequila, right?” He starts pouring, and Betty knows she’s backed herself into a dangerous corner.

 

 

 

Betty lasts another half hour before Fangs catches her again, from the other side of the dining room, no less. She ducks into the kitchen to take the shot, not wanting to draw attention from guests or, especially, Jughead. She knows she needs to get it together or she’s going to be slurring the specials. As an act of resistance, she brings most drink orders to Fangs, but she has to switch every so often so as not to rouse Jughead’s suspicions. 

By eleven, she’s three shots deep and furious at herself. Thankfully, the kitchen closes soon after. Fangs shows mercy by bringing her a lukewarm, rejected bowl of cacio e pepe. Jughead pouts until Fangs finds him a portion of tiramisu, and they both eat ravenously while Fangs tips out the staff. 

Looking down at her phone for the first time in hours, she sees Veronica has sent five messages.

_Leaving for the Hamptons on Sunday at 9am SHARP. Please relay to Toni._

_Nevermind, talked to Toni. She’s going to stay up here tomorrow so we can leave in the morning._

_Would you mind driving? You invited Jug right?_

_Nevermind, Mom is sending Smithers with us._

_Is Jughead coming?????_

Betty had invited Jughead to their annual Labor Day trip to the Lodge’s house in the Hamptons a week ago. The day after her breakdown at the museum, she and Jughead trekked out to his neighborhood and spent the day trying to help each other write submissions and job applications. Really, it devolved into the kind of New York eating binge Betty hadn’t been on since she first moved to the city, starting with bagels, moving to dumplings, bowls of ramen, afternoon coffees, and culminating in sampling pizza from two different places. Betty surrendered halfway through her third slice. 

Jughead took the remains, but groaned. “If nothing else, I know I was meant to live here by the sheer challenge that I cannot possibly eat everything, but I know I will try.”

Betty had been cataloguing the details about Jughead all day into ‘new’ and ‘old,’ and felt a delight every time he shares something that’s a little bit of both. He was wearing his beanie for the first time since she’s seen him and for some reason, it makes _her_ feel safe. 

“Hey Betts?”

“Hmm?”

“This is nice. Just hanging out and,” He paused to inhale the rest of the slice, chewing so slowly she wanted to shake the rest of his sentence out of him. “This means a lot to me. Our friendship, whatever it looks like for us now. I didn’t just say that a few weeks ago because you were dating someone.” 

Betty had fumbled for a response; she couldn’t say that she remembered demanding that he help her off the couch the night before. She couldn’t say that she forgot how comfortably her head puzzles together with his shoulder. Instead, she asked, “Do you want to come to the Hamptons for Labor Day?”

Finishing her pasta and sliding the bowl aside, she types out a confirmation to Veronica and sends a notice to Toni that she’ll be on her way to her place soon. 

“Veronica just sent me a packing list,” Jughead groans. “I thought this was going to be a casual weekend.”

“It is! Just don’t be late. She really might leave you behind.”

“What the hell is ‘light wash, nautical evening wear’? Does she have a boat?”

Betty laughs. “No, they sold the yacht a few years ago to buy the house in Mexico. She’s definitely just messing with you.”

“Um, speaking of which, Fangs wasn’t messing with you tonight, was he? You seemed a little off.” Betty wants to lean over the bar and smooth the tension in his brow with her thumb. 

“No, no. It was fine. It was a dumb little game and I’m sure he’ll give it up.”

He seems to buy it, and Betty resists the urge to layer on the reassurance, if only for the tender concern that lingers in his eyes. She files it away to think about when she gets back to Toni’s, for the moment when she curls up on the couch and needs something soft to ease her into sleep.

 

 

 

Betty sleeps until almost noon, woken by the midday sun filtered through Toni’s windowsill plants. “Morning, sleepy,” Toni chirps. “Let’s go to Black Seed. I’m buying.” Betty rolls over, awake but reluctant. 

“I have Dr. Leslie at 1:30 in Chelsea,” she grumbles.

“This is an obligatory free bagel. Plus, if Jughead is coming this weekend, I think you owe me the first installment in that particular history.” 

Twenty minutes later, over lox and a double americano, Betty starts at the night of homecoming and through Jughead leaving, finishing with the saga of Polly and Jason. It’s a whirlwind kind of story; it almost feels easier to tell this way, like she’s recounting a movie she‘s seen a thousand times. 

When she’s finished, Toni immediately asks, “That’s not all, right?” 

Betty almost laughs, knowing that Toni means that surely, this wasn’t all she’d been hiding in the shrugs or unanswered sighs during the four years of their friendship. Still, the dismissal makes her pause. Her heart had been young, yes, but still broken. 

“Of course not. But it was also pretty awful, because of my parents and the beginning of the end with them. None of it was anger at Jug. He was a casualty as much as I was.” 

Toni smiles for the first time since Betty began talking, but it’s sly, Veronica-esque. “But part two can’t be that bad, either, if you’re already willingly getting cuddly on the living room couch.”

Betty groans. “I’m never speaking to Veronica again.”

“Listen, I’ll admit that I need to give him a chance. That’s my promise this weekend. Your promise is that I think you should tell Dr. Leslie about it today. You already practiced on me.”

Betty’s stomach drops, like when a plate starts to tilt on her arm and she just barely catches it, but she agrees.

 

 

 

Dr. Leslie’s office feels more like a warm home, with walls of books, mugs of tea, and a wall of plants along the south facing windows. Renaissance choral music plays softly in the background, which Betty has developed a Pavlovian response of relief when she hears, even in other contexts. 

The walk from the train has already left Betty with a light sheen of sweat, so she elects for water over tea, and they begin the same as always, with Leslie waiting patiently and while Betty takes some centering breaths with her eyes closed, bringing what she wants into the room, and setting everything else outside. For a long time, this had felt awkward, but now, it’s a comfortable motion. Betty imagines it’s what it might feel like to wake up with the same person every day, to get ready in the same bathroom. One person making toast, the other brewing coffee, secure in the collective ritual. 

After a few minutes, Betty’s plan feels less like ripping off a band-aid and more like peeling back the page of a book. “Back in Riverdale, I had a friend named Jughead, who I haven’t talked about much. I mean, we were more than friends, really. He’s kind of suddenly back in my life.”

Dr. Leslie beckons encouragingly for her to continue, but not showing any surprise.

“I’ve known Jug since kindergarten,” Betty starts, letting the rest fall like rain. 

 

 

 

When she finishes, with only a few interruptions from Leslie, Betty has no idea how much time has passed. Dr. Leslie keeps a discreet clock behind the patients chair, so she always feels awkward turning to look. 

“Betty...” Leslie pauses so intently, Betty thinks she might be trying not to cry. It feels strange, having expected to cry at some point herself. She traces the seams of the armchair and tries not to look at her therapist.

“Betty, I sensed that there was a lot you carried when you first walked into this office. I have always been impressed with your ability to talk about things that can take some people years, like family trauma. I’m still very impressed, and proud, that even without discussing a lot of those events in your relationship history with this man, you seem to be able to see them clearly.”

This isn’t a question, exactly, and Betty doesn’t always know where to go with that. “I never really saw Jughead as, like, part of some trauma. Maybe bleeding in around the edges or something. But even in the worst of it, it was the worst because it wasn’t his fault or mine. It just hurt.”

Dr. Leslie nods. “Right, no, not a trauma. But that relationship caused you a significant amount of stress.”

Betty lets out a shaky breath, determined not to cry, especially having gotten past where she left off with Toni, all the way to the end without tears, a feat she hadn’t even believed possible. “Is it ever easy to love someone? Actually, all the way? Because I did. I let myself get hurt, over and over. Even once I moved here, it took years for it to stop hurting. I didn’t process it, I just froze it out and tried to move on.”

“Does it hurt, still?”

Betty resists a childish urge that occasionally surfaces with Leslie’s questioning to roll her eyes. Residual coping mechanisms from her mother. “It’s been a long time. It got easier to manage my general mental health. Jug and I didn’t really talk. I focused on who I want to be and let myself forget it.” 

“And now he’s back in your life. How does that feel?”

The sight of him behind the bar when she’d been trembling with nerves about telling Sweet Pea _I think we should just stay friends_. The comfort when she’d freaked out at the MoMa. The way he hadn’t hesitated to leave with her. The steadiness with which he guided her half-deadweight body down the hallway. None diluting into a single emotion.

“It feels good. I’m scared that it feels too good. Too easy. I’m scared to stop circling the big black hole of what happened.” Betty knows she’s partially avoiding the question. _But how does Jughead make you feel?_

Leslie surprises Betty by drawing back. “You don’t need to rush anything. That’s important. Trust is a long game, no matter the history. You can take time, and you can trust yourself to tell you when you’re ready. Before we go, I want you to take a minute to name what’s at the core of that fear. Not a battle plan, not an attack strategy. Just name it, and know that at any moment, you have the power to name that fear. Sometimes that’s enough to disarm it.”

Betty nods, closing her eyes. Familiar images surface; the low glow in the projection booth, the stuffing bursting from the trailer couch cushions, hushed phone calls. Veronica’s tears staining satin, thick manila envelopes and hotel keycards. Sweet smoke from the Memorial Day barbecues in Pickens Park. “I’m afraid of falling apart again.”

Leslie gets out her firm voice. “That was then. We’ve said it a million times by now, right? You’re not that girl anymore. You, Betty Cooper, get to decide exactly what you want, and you can trust yourself because you, beyond anyone else, know how to love yourself.”

The only time Betty gets the least bit cringey around Dr. Leslie are these pep-talks, but she needs this one. The self-correction gets stuck in her throat; _I’m afraid of losing him again._

 

 

 

Betty falters the next morning as she tosses her swimsuit, a cute but fading low cut one piece into her bag. She falls back onto her bed dramatically, planting herself face down into her pillow at the fact that she was even considering whether her suit was sexy enough. Toni, Kevin, and Veronica obviously didn’t care, seeing as she’d brought the same suit to the Hamptons for the last three years.

She could, of course, bring the newer bikini she’d bought for a trip to Mexico last spring. But then she would have to endure the eyebrow waggles from Kevin, a sunglasses dip from Veronica, a low whistle from Toni. Not because of the suit itself but because of Jughead’s presence. 

Veronica swings into her room minutes later, catching Betty with the green and white suit in hand and a conflicted look on her face. 

“Oh perfect, I came in here to force you to pack that.”

“V, I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“No, you’re trying to impress Jug, who we both know is not just anyone, Elizabeth. Hurry up, Kev’s already here.”

Betty tosses the bikini in her bag and does a quick sweep of her bathroom before Veronica could come back and demand a fashion show. 

Toni and Jughead show up simultaneously, and Betty immediately notes the film anthology sticking out of Toni’s bag, perched like an intentional conversation starter, which makes Betty’s heart swell. As they enter, Betty can tell Jughead has already noticed it because he’s eyeing the book with a gaze comparable only to the way he looks at a Pop’s hamburger. Only seconds after they walk in, Veronica is hustling everyone out, ready to beat any potential traffic.

As Betty climbs into Hermione Lodges’ large black SUV she’s hit with a surge of anxiety. Not even 24 hours earlier, she’d had an intense therapy session about the man getting in the car behind her. In what universe would this weekend not be a total awkward disaster? 

Her stress fades as Jughead mutters, “Did Veronica’s mom become a diplomat, or is an armoured vehicle now standard for the hyper-wealthy?”

“If this is setting you off, I don’t know how to prepared you for the Hamptons, Juggie.”

The nickname slips, just like it had on the door to the party, the night at the bar, the haze of waking up on the couch with him. Like the other times, Betty diverts her eyes, not wanting to see if he noticed or reacted. 

Jughead takes the back row, so Betty joins him, and Toni slides on his other side. Within moments, Toni is already recounting the first film that made her consider cinematography a true art form, Jughead riveted as he pages through the book that Betty had stared at on their coffee table for years. 

Kevin gets in, already dressed for the beach in form fitting swim trunks and Ray-Bans. “The nerds have found each other, I see,” he remarks to Betty. “Veronica is, predictably, taking the longest despite her lectures about timeliness.”

Moments later, Veronica slides in. “Alright, darlings! Labor Day commenceth! Snacks will be available after we leave the lurching traffic.”

 

 

 

The drive takes just under three hours, during which Veronica begins retelling stories from high school to make Jughead feel more integrated (and, Betty suspects, not to be outdone by Toni’s renewed efforts). 

“Oh my god, even just my first day of Riverdale High. Betty, of course, was the most innocent little angel I had ever seen, the kind of person I might have tortured in middle school only because I wished I could be as sweet and smart as her. Then, at lunch, she introduced me to the two most opposite boys I could imagine as her _best friends_. At that point, I knew the poor girl needed an intervention after being sandwiched between Holden Caulfield and Troy Bolton for the last ten years of her life.” 

Jughead winces, “I called you a phony _one time_ , Veronica.” Betty giggles at the memory, remembering how red his ears turned.

“Your turn, Holden,” Veronica prompts, “tell us something embarrassing about the golden child,” and Jughead chances a glance at Betty.

“So, um, there was a diner in Riverdale—”

“Yes, Pop’s, blah blah we know, Betty wore a very odd yellow uniform that is emblazoned on the fantasies of men far and wide,” Kevin interjects. Betty thinks she catches a slight pinkening of Jughead’s cheeks.

“Okay, right. I spent a lot of time there, especially this one summer, before our senior year. Only, at the time, Betty was pretty pissed off at me.”

Everyone’s gaze shoots to Betty, who squirms. “You were mad at me, too, if I recall,” she deflects, and Jughead shrugs. 

“Anyway, I’m trying to get to the good part. I’m trying to get back in Betty’s good graces.”

“Wait,” Toni jumps in. “This is after Toledo? Why was she mad?”

Betty responds for him, her tone tense and wishing Jughead would hurry up and get to the point. “It’s a long story.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes, but Jughead starts again before Kevin can press. “One night, close to Labor Day,” he pauses for some dramatic effect, “Pop, the man himself, had just rung up the last customer. Well, besides me, but he liked to say I was more of a ‘fixture of the institution’ than a customer. There used to be a real, old-fashioned jukebox at Pop’s, but it got replaced when I was ten with a newer version that would play from a long catalogue. So, Pop goes over to the jukebox and goes, ‘Listen, kids. I hate seeing two young people like yourselves waste time trying being stubborn. I’m going to play this song, go out back and have a smoke, and when I come back, you’d best have kissed and made up.’”

Betty smiles, remembering her shock hearing Pop take such a stern tone with them. The first notes of ‘Book of Love’ poured over the speakers, and she and Jughead had tried not to look at each other. 

_I love it when you read to me; you can read me anything._ It made her think of the afternoon, freshman year, when they’d worked on their honors English assignment and he’d started reading to her from The Grapes of Wrath, sitting in the same booth of Pop’s he’s sitting in now.

“In the second verse, Betty can’t help but start singing along a little, and I can tell she wants to say something. I knew I didn’t really deserve an apology. I think I was just hoping for forgiveness. So I went over to the jukebox and I set it to play the same song five more times.” 

_I love it when you sing to me; you could sing me anything._ That’s what had made her start to hum. She thought he’d been trying to turn the song off so she’d turned around to show him just how equally uninterested she was in Pop’s preposition. 

Jughead continues, “So I go sit down at the diner counter, and she’s still singing and I think about interrupting because maybe she thinks I‘d walked out. But Betty has a nice voice, so I let her keep going.”

 _And I love it when you give me things._ Then she’d turned around, her voice building a little when she’d thought that maybe he’d ducked down the hallway to the bathrooms, maybe out to the parking lot to bum a cigarette from Pop. She had been hoping Jughead hadn’t started smoking since working with Joaquin at the Twilight. The song lyrics came out mindlessly: _you ought to give me wedding rings._ At the same moment, she locks eyes with Jughead, who had never left the room.

Toni and Kevin both laugh, and Jughead seems emboldened to continue. “Betty turns bright red, but we both start laughing. At first because we still felt awkward, I think, not knowing what to say to each other. But then it turned real, and we couldn’t stop.”

After that, Pop had returned with a truly jolly smile and sent them off to break their stalemate. In the parking lot, he’d finally offered the first of many apologies. 

“I thought of a story for the first issue of the Blue and Gold. ‘Teenage Loner Makes Ill-Conceived Rash Decision, Spends Months Begging Friends For Forgiveness.’”

Betty had resisted the urge to smile. “I actually have a story already: ‘We’re Calling This Undercover Journalism Because The Reality Is Far Too Bleak for Comment.’”

“I don’t think Riverdale High is ready for the expose of the town’s shiny, maple-syrup sweet image. But I’m also not ready to try and survive a year where you won’t talk to me.”

Blinking herself back to the present, she catches Jughead smiling softly at her, even though Veronica has launched into another story. She knows that he’s remembering, too, and for the first time, the idea of breaching those memories together makes her heart buckle with hope. 

 

 

 

By the time they pull up to the Lodge’s Hampton residence, Betty aches from laughter at Kevin’s renditions of his fellow office interns, which he plays like an ensemble cast from Saturday Night Live. Seeing Jughead laugh with her friends does something to her, too, like an unbidden comparison to the Jug who removed himself from most group social events. Not that she had minded following him from Veronica’s movie nights into the Lodge library or having to meet him after football games on the grassed-over sledding hill because Pop’s was ‘too crowded’ after games. But it’s nice to see this version, having effortless discourse with Toni and meeting Veronica at every witty conversational hurdle. 

Jughead reacts predictably to the enormous house. “This is more than a mansion, Betty. This is worth more than the national GDP of some nations,” he whispers as Veronica gives a brief tour. “The Blossoms have nothing on this.”

“And to think that we spent high school working some really menial jobs. We could have just had Hermione hire us to be Veronica’s friends professionally, or something. Think of all the problems that would have avoided.”

It’s a risky comment, but she can’t help going there after the car ride. It seems at least a little bit right to veer them towards the black hole. Jughead looks uncertain of his smile, but Betty counts it as an inch forward. 

They duck into their respective rooms to change. Betty puts on the bikini and doesn’t even give herself the option of looking in the mirror, pulling on a cover-up and assembling her beach bag: towel from the cabinet, sunscreen, and a worn copy of _Persuasion_. 

Jughead is the first person ready, lingering in the empty hallway. 

“Shall we?” Betty notes Jughead’s delayed response. He’s definitely staring at her legs. 

Knowing the others aren’t far behind as they make their way down the wooden walkway to the private beach, Betty decides to take advantage of the lack of audience. “Why did you tell that story in the car?”

Jughead looks both bashful and thoughtful, combing his fingers to revive his hat hair. “I’m sorry if I actually embarrassed you. I thought it was kind of harmless compared to the stuff Veronica could drag up.”

“No, not that. I’m just curious what made you think of it.”

He shrugs again. “I heard that song last week. It always makes me think of you.”

Surprised by his boldness, Betty chances a look at Jughead and finds he’s meeting her eye. It’s a challenge, an invitation to go back to that moment, to that diner booth, to evaluate all the decisions that brought them to that night and all the nights that followed after. He’s ready, and she’s still clinging to the edge. “Me too,” she says, but it sounds empty, a meager offering in return. 

Arriving before Veronica means arriving without any accouterments of beach chairs or umbrellas, but Betty spreads out her towel and shyly applies sunscreen with her cover up on. Jughead, to her disappointment and relief, seems to focus on gaping at the stretch of beach and neighboring houses. Tentatively, she takes off her cover up just as Veronica, Kevin, and Toni emerge from the house.

“Jug, I’m going to need a hand with the umbrellas!” Veronica calls out.

“Don’t give me gendered tasks, Veronica.”

Betty giggles and Jughead turns to receive the affirmation of his joke, but as soon as he sees takes in her bathing suit, his smile turns to an open mouth gape for a fraction of a second. He saves himself quickly by lurching toward the umbrella and setting it up anyway. 

“Oh damn, I forgot to grab a towel,” Jughead says after sufficiently burying the base of the umbrella. 

Without thinking, or perhaps thinking too much about that fact that Jughead may have spent as much time over the past couple weeks at the restaurant watching her as she’s spent watching him, Betty shifts over on her own beach towel. “You can share mine.”

 

 

 

Only after re-reading the same paragraph four times does Betty admit to herself that the towel, though substantially wider than standard, is not large enough for two people determined not to be casually touching one another. Their skin occasionally brushes. Her foot grazes Jughead’s calf. His bare side meets hers for a moment and they both over-correct, veering to the edges of the fabric. Betty keeps her eyes glued to Jane Austen’s words to avoid their magnetic compulsion to study Jughead’s much broader shoulders and defined biceps. It’s the sun, she’s sure, that is making her so overheated. 

As if reading her mind, or at least her sweat glands, Jughead announces, “I’m going in the water, if anyone is interested.” 

Kevin looks at a Jughead like he’s suggested they rob a bank and takes a long sip from his plastic pineapple tumbler. “I’m here to get drunk and stay dry.”

Toni and Veronica don’t even respond, but Betty takes the moment to cut the physical tension between then in any she can think of. “I’m in. In fact… I’ll race you.”

Betty throws down her book and starts sprinting to the shore. 

“No, you’re cheating!” Jughead calls, tearing after her.

Just as Betty’s feet splash into the shallows, an arm circles her waist and pulls her along, yanking them into the water in tandem. All Betty can manage is a loud grunt of his name before they go under. 

Coming up from the cool water, she’s still loosely slung in Jughead’s grip, and when his arm pulls away, it’s cooler in outline where he’d held her. His hair coils in shiny tendrils that he shakes out of his face, overcome with a smirk of unadulterated delight. She drops the script, forgetting that she’s supposed to whine or splash him for the tackle. Instead, Betty feels her mouth stretch to mirror Jughead’s expression. Old Jug or new Jug, nothing else makes her heart beat like this. 

 

 

 

By dinner time, everyone is at least halfway drunk except Jughead, who has finished only a single bottle of beer. Even then, Betty thinks she’s probably had more sips from it than him. It’s a move so high school she wouldn’t even have stooped to it then, but after the moment in the ocean, Betty can’t help but think about their lips meeting indirectly on the bottle’s mouth. 

In the back of her mind, Betty knows she needs to slow down. Even though Jughead says it doesn’t bother him, she doesn’t want him to be the only one remotely close to sober. Right now, she’s not sure she should trust herself either. 

Toni, their only prayer at a real dinner, is shaping pizza dough and slicing toppings. Jughead antagonizes her a bit by swiping fingerfuls of cheese, but Toni seems to enjoy the excuse to have a bit with him. 

Kevin and Veronica sing and dance to a segments of songs and Betty sways between them all, feeling wrapped in the bliss of the present. Jughead catches her eye and she feels his smile trickle all the way down her spine. 

 

 

 

The pizza hits her mouth like a wave of cheese and salvation, soothing her tipsy brain’s demand for sustenance. 

“Wow. I know what the look means. Betty just got exactly what she asked for.” Jughead’s quirked eyebrow and smug tone make her stomach flip. 

“Oh you think you know something about that?” 

Jughead doesn’t need to answer that, but he does take a step closer. Even if Betty hadn’t the sense to take their flirty jabs there, she has the forethought to take a step back and keep their distance even. 

 

 

 

Even later, or maybe only another ten minutes, after Jughead and Toni thoroughly judged the movie selection in the home cinema (completely lacking in quality horror in their opinion) and Kevin falls asleep on one of the plush armchairs, Toni decides to check on Veronica. 

“She’s fine, I think she just went to the bathroom.” Betty notices that her voice sounds too loud, a sure sign that she’s rounding the corner to a level of intoxicated she doesn’t want to be. 

Toni gives Jughead a meaningful look, and Jughead steers Betty to the kitchen by the shoulders pushing her into a seat at the island. 

“I’m fine! Toni is such a mom,” Betty groans. 

Jughead pauses to brush a wave of hair behind her ear, and even though she’s sure her hair has dried completely wild, she thinks he might like it. Just as abruptly, he moves away and starts rooting through the refrigerator. 

“She told me about how you called her a jughead.” He pulls out a container from the freezer and a carton of milk from the fridge. 

“Well, you have a lot in common.”

He starts scooping vanilla ice cream into a blender. “Why didn’t you tell her about… me?”

He doesn’t say _us_. Betty can’t put her finger on why that bothers her. He starts the blender, and she hopes it will get her out of an answer, but only if she thinks of something else fast enough. He pours the milkshake into a pint glass and finds a straw. 

“It’s not the same but…” Jughead sets it in front of her. His brow has the telling dimple of concern, and she should have known the question wasn’t going to pass his curiosity by so quickly. 

Maybe it’s the first distraction Betty can think of. Maybe it’s all she’s been thinking about for days, if she’s honest with herself. Maybe it’s the fact that he made her a milkshake and still thinks of her when he hears an iconic love song that makes her surge forward and land her lips against his. 

The kiss is a blur. She can’t really feel it, she needs to breathe, a chance to lean in past the initial shock, but they never get there. He pulls away.

“Betts,” Jughead’s voice is low, thick with something she hopes is desire and not emotion. “I don’t think… I mean—” he takes a deep breath. “I can’t do this if it’s nothing.”

 _Of course it’s not nothing._ But even as Betty thinks it, she can’t form the words. She can’t say what she wants or what hurts, and likely the answer to both questions is _everything._

She slips past him without another word.

 

 

 

Veronica is in her room and startles when Betty walks in, shooting a glance to her bathroom door. When she sees the tears fall from Betty’s eyes, she crosses the room to crush Betty in a hug. “What happened? Do I have to hurt somebody? Because I will fucking fight him,” Veronica soothes, her tone both calm and ferocious. Betty shakes her head as she pulls away, wiping her eyes. 

“It’s not, no, no. It’s just me. I think I need to go,” Betty realizes this only as she says it. She’s not ready for the fallout, not ready for her heart to betray her head again. 

Veronica starts dialing and motions for Betty to go pack. Betty can’t remember where all her things are, but she trusts Veronica to find them all in the morning. She moves frantically, worried that Jughead could decide to come find her when she can’t face him. 

Veronica peeks her head in. “Smithers is pulling up the car. He’ll come back for us tomorrow. Betty--”

Betty shakes her head. “I kissed him. I just did it, and I’m not ready, but I just didn’t think, I’m not ready…” The words are like lifting thousand pounds each to force out. “I didn’t want to get hurt and I already did it to myself.” Tears gush and she swipes them again, smudging her makeup even further, black streaked marks of her own foolishness. 

“Oh babe,” Veronica wraps her in another hug and they stay that way until Betty can manage to take a breath without a sob breaking out. Veronica carries her bag to the front, and mercifully he seems to have cleared out, given her space. The car is waiting, and her best friend hugs her once more. “Text me when you get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Betty’s whole chest aches as she climbs into the backseat. She props her head on the tinted glass and counts the blurs of light as they wind along the shore back to the highway. 

Her phone lights up from across the seat.

_Did you leave?_

It’s him, of course, and Betty has to all but throw her phone to the other side of the car to avoid replying: **_it seemed like something you would do._**

 

 

 

_____________________________________________

 

 

**June, end of junior year**

 

 

What’s amazing about the mind, Jughead realizes as he trudges through the muddy dirt drive into Sunnyside trailer park, is how little time it takes to sanitize your memories. With a begrudging familiarity, Jughead takes in the rusted jalopies, the tattered curtains blowing out of Mrs. DeSantos’ open window, cinder block rubble tagged with layers of black and green spray paint, all like distant cousins, remembered vaguely but rarely recalled. It’s quiet, a weekend morning of lie-ins or homes vacant for part-time shifts at second jobs. 

He’s at the first turn off and spots FP’s motorcycles, one still essentially scrap metal, bent at a sickening angle, while the other looks just-washed. The green truck sits next to them, the hood popped. He spots skinny legs and pink Converse sneakers poking out underneath and calls out to their owner. 

“If you were excited to see me, you could have just called.”

Betty peeks her head out from the tilt of the hood, an adorable smudge of grease on her cheek that Jughead vows not to tell her about. “Now I’m gonna have to pay you. What’s your going rate? Grilled cheese? Vanilla milkshakes? Groveling apologies?” He’s walking steadily towards the truck, sloughing off his backpack on the steps to the trailer. 

Betty says nothing, squinting her eyes and hands on her hips, her expression unreadable, but it might just be the glare of the sun. At this point he doesn’t have much to lose. “An eternal and exclusive writing contract with the Blue and Gold? Free admission to the Twilight? What do I gotta do, Betts?” He’s close enough that he sees a smile forming on her face. She grabs a towel, wipes her hands, and tosses it aside before running towards him. Jughead’s barely ready for her when she throws her arms around him, but the collision of her head to his chest and her arms around his torso anchors him more than Archie and Fred picking him up from the bus station, more than the Sunnyside trailer park sign, more even than the taste of his hamburger at Pop’s the night before. 

She answers, muted by their embrace but no less intense, “Just don’t leave again.”

 

 

 

They take the truck to Pop’s, because it turns out that Betty keeps the key and expects to hold him to his offers for emotional compensation. On the way, she rolls the windows down, even though it’s still not quite summer and the breeze carries a faint chill. Betty tells Jughead about how she’d found FP in the Pop’s parking lot after her shift about a month ago, struggling to open the door, whiskey on his breath. She’d driven him home and then taken the truck to her own neighborhood, parked around the block so Alice and Hal wouldn’t see. 

Fred started picking FP up for work at the construction site so he didn’t have to drive, but Fred could tell he’d been hungover most days. Jughead’s dad claimed it was under control, despite the night he’d almost gotten behind the wheel at Pop’s. He didn’t drink on the job, just a few beers. Betty, in a moment Jughead berated her for, questioned a few Serpents about whether they had seen FP at the Wyrm recently, which belied his father’s assurances about it being under control.

Gladys, of course, had been righteously angry at Fred’s suggestion to send Jughead back to Riverdale at the end of the school year. _It’s not a seventeen year old’s responsibility, Freddie. I’m not asking you to deal with it, but it’s no more Jug’s job than anyone else’s._ But once Jughead knew that FP was off the wagon, he started to press his mom in a way he hadn’t for over a year. He was going back to Riverdale when he turned eighteen anyway, he pushed. Better to go now and help his dad get his shit together before it gets worse. Eventually, Gladys caved, but not without a great deal of lecturing and sulking. 

But Jughead isn’t thinking about any of this on the short drive to Pop’s. Instead, he’s thinking about the way summer will brighten Betty’s hair, about late nights at the drive-in nestled in the corner of the truck cab, about trips to the water hole, about midnight milkshakes. Wondering if it will take long before their hands twine together unconsciously. How long before he can kiss her. They haven’t talked much in the last year, but from the way she greeted him and the simple fact that she waited him to show up bolstered his confidence. The smile she flashes as they pull in to the parking lot helps, too.

Pop greets Jughead enthusiastically, despite having seen him only the night before, and tells them to order whatever they want, “employee-discount,” with a wink to Betty.

“So how long have you been working here?” Jughead asks, sliding into their usual booth. 

Betty tilts her head, and the pause is the first moment of awkwardness, the void between their deep familiarity and missing knowledge. “Since the start of school last year. I had to flex some independence to keep my parents at bay after my dad moved back in. Plus, it’s been tense, and I needed excuses to get out of the house.”

“Do you hear from Polly much?”

Betty’s gaze flits around the diner, out the window. “Not much. Every couple months or so. The twins are still good, healthy. I think they’re going to leave the commune at some point. Get GEDs. Go to community college. But Polly doesn’t talk to my parents. Last year it was like they were trying to build some armoured, weaponized perimeter for me. Now, it’s a different kind of smothering. My mom is constantly babbling about college applications and going on school visits. I even like that stuff and she is exhausting.”

The mention of college turns Jughead’s stomach a little. His mom, though nowhere near Alice Cooper levels of ferocity, had started badgering him the last few months to make sure he was taking his tests and applying for scholarships. The thought of anything except slipping back into the idyllic dream of Riverdale that he’d harbored for the past year and a half was far too overwhelming.

“But your dad is back?” he prods, steering the topic back to Betty's family.

“Yeah, but I kind of wish he weren’t. I always thought he was at the mercy of my mom, you know? And this whole debacle with Polly showed me that in a lot of ways, he’s worse. The manipulation is just cloaked.”

Pop brings their food and Jughead starts shoveling fries into his mouth. “I’m guessing they don’t know about my dad?”

“No, God. Not that they forgave him the first time.” Jughead realizes his face must slip, because she’s reaching for his fry-less hand. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. I’m sure Fred has a plan.”

He reaches back, comforted that even if he hasn’t slept through the night in weeks, even if there is a persistent vortex of panic in his gut, he’s reaching out and holding Betty Cooper’s hand. It’s even better than he remembered.

 

 

 

To get his job back at the Twilight, the owner gives him a number for Joaquin DeSantos, which Jughead writes on a scrap of paper and forgets in his pocket. He knows Joaquin from a distance; a Southside High kid a year older than him, resident of Sunnyside. Joaquin’s worn the Serpent jacket since he was only fourteen, so Jughead had always steered clear of him, like the rest of them, trailing the outskirts of that world when he traversed the boundary to the Northside every day. 

They spend the day at Archie’s, waiting for their dads to return from work. Betty rolls her eyes when Archie suggests they play video games, so instead Archie digs out their middle school yearbooks, and they spend the afternoon recounting embarrassments that seem mild a few years later, grown out of the awkward. 

“Arch, I forgot how scrawny you were. You grew like, a foot between 8th and 9th grade,” Betty notes, and Archie shifts his shoulders backwards with confidence. 

“I think Midge Klump actually gasped on the first day of high school,” he boasts, and Jughead slugs him in the stomach. 

“You still think about that on your bad hair days, don’t ya, Arch?” Jughead digs, and they all laugh.

“Whatever, no need to be jealous, Jug,” Archie tosses back.

“If anyone’s got a right to be jealous around that time, it would have to be you, Archie. Most of the girls were secretly into Jug in 8th grade while you were still shrimpy.”

Jughead and Archie both look at Betty, slack-jawed. “Are you remembering the same Riverdale Junior High as me?” Jughead finally manages. Sure, maybe people like Reggie had messed with him a little less, but the only girl who ever showed any interest in him had been Ethel. And of course, Betty, but as his friend. Even Betty had been a little less present that year, gravitating towards hanging out with Polly and her new high school friends. 

“Trust me. They would all come to me because I was the only girl you would talk to. Midge was always badgering me about what kind of music you listened to, and if you thought emo girls were cute. Obviously there was Ethel and her science notebook half full with signatures of _Mrs. Forsythe Pendleton Jones III_. Ginger Lopez tried to become my best friend, but whenever she came over she just wanted to talk about you.”

His face probably looks like Betty is describing an alternative reality. “I just don’t… why? How did I never know about this?”

Betty shrugs. “None of them, besides Ethel, seemed confident to do anything about it. You were always the quiet, mysterious boy. Once you hit puberty in stride, you were like, the 8th grade Byronic hero. Then, we got to high school, and all of that was too socially risky, probably, I don’t know.”

Archie looks genuinely gobsmacked. Jughead can’t help himself. “You, too?”

Betty smiles conspiratorially. “I mean, I wasn’t falling for any of that ‘he’s so mysterious’ nonsense but,” she pauses, and he can feel her eyes rake over him now. His heart starts drumming so loud that he’s sure Betty and Archie can see the movement in his chest. “I definitely noticed.”

“Oh my god, gross, I’m done,” Archie whines, closing the yearbooks. 

The afternoon has passed and Archie debates calling his dad when the rumble of a truck engine rolls into the Andrews’ driveway. They spring up, leaving behind their benign and bewildering memories for the far more pressing present. 

Fred gets out of the car, the passenger seat notably vacant. Jughead’s face must mirror his friends’, all asking the same question. Fred answers them all with a heaving sigh. “Jughead,” Fred starts, his voice cracking in a way that betrays any sliver of good news. He feels Betty’s hand on his back, but it’s muffled, like she’s touching him in a different dimension than this one.

“Your dad must have left the work site after lunch, I didn’t see him go. I’m going to head to the Southside. You kids stay here, order some pizza. I’m going to figure this out.” Fred’s earnesty makes Jughead want to disappear. To make his dad disappear, so that none of these people have to be dragged into his mess. 

“I should come with you,” Jughead croaks out, but Fred shakes his head. “This isn’t your responsibility, Jug,” Fred pleads, but Jughead knows he’s wrong. 

“I have to do something, Mr. Andrews.” He’s almost begging. 

Betty steps between them. “What if we take your dad’s truck back to your place? See if he’s gone home.”

Fred hedges and Jughead knows it’s because he doesn’t really believe that FP is there. Jughead almost rejects the idea. There is nothing he wants less than Betty to become a spectator, or worse, a target of his father’s bender. But he can’t stay on Archie’s porch.

Fred takes Archie while Betty starts the Ford, and they drive back to Sunnyside in silence. A blanket of thick rain clouds sail towards them from Greendale, and Jughead prays FP won’t be riding drunk through a thunderstorm. _Please god let him already be passed out in the trailer._

They pull in and Betty kills the engine. “Should I wait here?” Jughead catches a hint of fear in her voice. He reaches across the cab to hook his arm around her waist and pull himself towards her. She tucks her face into his neck and he presses his nose to the side of her head, breathing in vanilla flower. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Betty murmurs, and Jughead almost laughs at how blatantly untrue that is, however deeply she wants it to be soothing. Instead, he lets out a sharp exhale. He loves how much, at least, she wants it to be okay.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll see if he’s there, and then we can go.”

The door is unlocked, but Jughead knows that the disaster inside is nothing but FP’s doing. There are dishes, styrofoam containers on every surface, a rank stench of rotting food mixed with dregs of whiskey bottles. Jughead’s stomach lurches and he trips on an empty beer can on his way into the living room. The cushions are lopsided, half sloping off the frame. It’s freezing; the heater is either broken or the electricity off, but the microwave clock still blinks across the dark kitchen. Forging a path through the minefield of broken glass and pooled t-shirts, Jughead sticks his head into the bathroom and bedroom, both similarly disgusting but vacant. 

Tossing aside a stack of mail, Jughead pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and slumps into it, removes his hat and starts wringing it in his hands. He calculates how easy it would be to get back on a bus to Toledo, to leave the whole mess behind. His bag is still packed in the back of the truck.

The truck where Betty sits, her words still ringing in his ears. _Just don’t leave again._

And as much as Jughead hates his father’s weakness in that moment, he also remembers watching FP get wheeled into Riverdale General. The fear in Alice Cooper’s eyes as she paced in the waiting room, demanding that he leave Betty alone. Jughead has no security in the hope that FP could turn it around if he just came home to find someone there who thought he could do better. One person who didn’t give up on him. Jughead, as much of an unlucky bastard he often considered himself, knew he could count on people to show up for him. His dad had half a dozen Bud Lights and a knock off Lay-Z Boy armchair.

The door opens, and if Betty is revolted by the scene, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she picks up an empty 24-pack and starts picking up cans. 

“Betts, you don’t have to,” he protests, but she continues as if he hasn’t said anything. Jughead stands, deciding to join her. Within ten minutes, the floor is mostly visible again. He gets a call from his mom, which he ignores. 

Betty has disappeared into the bedroom with piles of laundry that Jughead shudders to watch her touch, when he hears a knock. 

As if summoned from his earlier ruminations, Joaquin DeSantos is on the porch, as big-eyed, grim and leather-clad as Jughead remembers. Jughead steps out, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. 

“Hey.”

“Hi, Jughead. I’m Joaquin. I live- ”

Jughead nods. “I know. Can I help you?”

Joaquin looks more taken aback, even nervous, than Jughead would have imagined possible. “A couple things, I guess. Craig said you wanted to work the drive-in this summer, which is cool with me. You do the booth, right?”

“Uh, yep. Was that all?”

Joaquin is shifting back and forth, making Jughead progressively tense. “I’ve seen FP around since he got out, and I can tell he’s having a rough time. I know you’re not a Serpent, and I’m not asking you to become one. But I do know people who can help. I got my mom into rehab a while back.”

The memory of jittery Mrs. Desantos surfaces, her vacant stares across the trailer park. His mom coming home late a few times after dropping Mrs. DeSantos off at appointments. “How’s she doing?”

Joaquin’s expression softens a fraction. “Good. She’s been clean for a year and a half. I’m trying to move her out of Riverdale, but it’ll take a while. But think on it. Come by the drive-in. I’ll ask Penny what she can work out.”

Jughead has no idea who Penny is, but he thanks Joaquin before ducking back inside. Betty, brandishing a bottle of Pledge older than Jellybean, has gotten down to the counter surfaces. 

“Who was that?”

“My neighbor. He’s working at the Twilight, too.”

Jughead can see a question taking root on Betty’s face, so he swoops in and takes the cleaning supplies out of her hands. “Can we just sit for a minute?”

The couch, his former bed, is even mustier than he remembers, but no less comfortable. Jughead plops down and pats the spot beside him, where Betty sits so close that their sides touch from foot to shoulder. Her touch builds an immutable barrier between them and the world, and he wants to channel every ounce of terror and rage into something good by touching her. 

They haven’t said anything to one another about what is or isn’t between them, so he resists the many, many things he’s thought about doing with Betty for the last 20 months and probes, “So… you never told me you’ve liked me since eighth grade.”

Betty’s bark of laughter sends reverberations that thrill him much more than is appropriate for a son with an alcoholic father that can’t be found. “Okay, I did not _like_ you. But I did think you were very, very cute.” 

Jughead knows he’s being annoying, but he can’t help asking. “Cuter than Archie?”

Betty’s knuckles graze his, and Jughead feels aware of his body in ways he never thought about before, like the space between his toes, the middle of his back, his own mouth. He tries to focus on his own body to avoid the catalytic effects of turning any attention to Betty’s. 

“I think it was easy to convince myself that I liked Archie, it… made sense, or something. But it didn’t really make any sense at all, beyond that I thought it was what I should want. And then you asked me to homecoming. And then it was like every tiny spark I ignored like--” Betty’s voice grows suddenly softer, “just exploded.”

Her eyes are enormous and wide, asking for exactly what’s he’s been desperate to do all day, all year, but he takes a second to soak in the anticipation they lost last time. But it’s only a moment, and then his lips are eclipsing Betty’s.

Kissing her is softer than he anticipated, and better. His arms come around her back and he can feel her hum of satisfaction. It gives him encouragement to pull her closer and let his mouth open a little wider. Even hours after the milkshake, she still tastes like vanilla.

 _Explosions, indeed,_ he thinks. 

 

 

 

FP returns in the early morning light. Jughead doesn’t think his dad even notices him and Betty curled on the couch as he stumbles back to the bedroom. Reluctant to leave the radiator-like warmth of his torso pressed against Betty’s back, his arm wound around her waist, his other hand in her hair, Jughead follows FP. He can smell his dad before he even crosses the threshold into the bedroom, as if the whiskey is weeping from his pores. 

Betty takes the car back home and Jughead sits on his porch, trying to decide whether to call Fred.

In the end, he does, but only to leave a short message that FP had made it home. Then, he crosses the gravel turn off to the DeSantos trailer, and gets invited in. 

Joaquin seems both pleased and surprised to see him. He babbles a lot and Jughead tries to follow, but eventually Joaquin decides he should just show him around the drive-in. 

There, Jughead enters his old home, the projector booth. Some of his things appear to still be there, squished further into the corner, but the sleeping bag still looking like someone might be using it. The film reels have been re-organized, which seems to have been Joaquin’s doing, alphabetized by decade of release. It’s a strange method not to sort by genre, but Jughead supposes he can defer. 

The brown paper wrapped packages are labeled, too, but with movies he knows the Twilight has never showed. _The Exorcist, 1973. Rosemary’s Baby, 1968. 12 Angry Men, 1957._

He doesn’t ask what’s in the packages, or rather, he refuses any further description from Joaquin. The same way he refuses to actually meet whoever Penny Peabody is; all he cares is that by receiving and distributing whatever Joaquin brings or requests on Friday and Saturday during the weekend Twilight showings, the Serpents will pay for FP to go to rehab. 

The first weekend he manages to work and watch to the movie with Betty. Usually, he just has to start the movie on time, fix any technical difficulties, pause for an intermission, and then stop the reel afterwards. He knows Joaquin will be back and forth more than that, but he makes up a few more excuses (bathroom, more popcorn) and Betty seems only mildly disappointed that they can’t settle in enough to curl into the corner of the cab to make out. Hell, he’s more than mildly disappointed, having mentally rehearsed the extension of his arm from tentative brushing against Betty’s bare stomach, up to the soft curve of her chest.

She suggests that they could come again the next night. “I mean, we could just stay in the booth, right? I’ve already seen the movie, now,” and Betty smiles slyly, the corner lip bite that makes Jughead’s throat go dry.

“Joaquin is really strict about only employees being in the booth,” he groans, the truth no less disappointing when he hears the strong suggestive lilt in Betty’s voice. 

She shrugs, which in retrospect, Jughead should have heeded. Elizabeth Cooper was not one to give up easily. So on the second night of _The Outsiders_ , when they’ve agreed to meet at Pop’s after her shift, Jughead is sorting through the 1980-85 box for the requisite package for Joaquin ( _Flashdance, 1983_ ) and hears a knock on the door. Jughead swings the package behind him when he sees that it’s Betty, not even changed out of her Pop’s uniform. 

“I think I managed to evade your teen boss,” she smirks before catching the pained look on Jughead’s face. “Oh, sorry, I thought…”

He tries to pivot quickly and leave the brown paper square with its label side down “Um, no, just come in.” It’s tense, and he knows he has only minute to diffuse the situation before Joaquin shows up. Betty steps inside, and he can’t help but remember the last time she’d been in this room with him. 

It’s enough for him to forget, for a moment, that Joaquin is already crossing the field of parked cars to the booth. It’s enough for him to sweep her ponytail into his grasp and pull her in for a breathless kiss, the one he’d wanted to give her back then. Betty answers in kind, surprised by his hunger and intensity but taking no time to match it. 

The knock on the door throws him again. There are only two real options. The first is to let Joaquin in with Betty still clearly entangled, but he knows that will mean an immediate end to the arrangement. The other will supercede his previous memories of Betty in the projector booth yet again, because he presses a finger to his mouth and points so firmly for her to slip behind another shelf that she doesn’t even send him a questioning look.

It’s brief. There is a hand-off, _Flashdance_ for _An American in Paris_. He files the package accordingly. 

“What’s in that, Jug?”

He lands on the truth. “I have no idea.”

“You mean you’re pretending to have no idea. Jughead, Southside Serpents don’t deal baseball cards. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I can get you another job! Or Fred can!” 

Jughead has never heard Betty curse. “It’s fine, Betty. I truly have no idea what it is. I’m trying to stay out of all that.”

“Then why the hell are you touching it? Why are you passing things off when you don’t know what they are? Why are you doing some mysterious business with _Southside Serpents_ , Forsythe?”

His real name rings between them and he knows she deserves the truth, even if he can see her crumple with every second that suspicion settles deeper in the incredulity of her face. 

“They’re paying for my dad to go to rehab.”

Her eyes flutter closed; she’s muzzling her own anger towards him. “Jug, please, god, tell me this isn’t you selling drugs to help your dad get sober.” Betty’s hard bark of a laugh feels like a slap.

“Betty, he’s my responsibility. No one else is going to ride in an fix him like an old truck. He needs more than a tune-up. I’m just doing something I have to do.”

Betty looks devastated. “You don’t have to do this. You could have come to me. To Archie. Hell, to Veronica. If you fucking came to your _friends_ and said, ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking of selling drugs for a _gang_ , do you think you all could help me find the money to send my dad to rehab? Jug, I know you’re not this big of an idiot. Come talk to me when you’ve snapped the fuck out of this.”

She storms out, but he’s frozen. He can’t go after her because he’s afraid she’s right.

 

 

 

And still, Jughead doesn’t want to believe that people, even people like FP, can be abandoned. For a few weeks, the rage of their missing understanding carries Jughead away from Archie and Betty. He doesn’t go to Pop's because she’s taken more shifts in the summer, subbing so much that her schedule is unpredictable.

On the 4th of July, Jughead meets Penny Peabody. She’s got an attitude like a loaded gun and a clear disdain for his family. 

“You remind me of your dad a little, after he got that injury and lost his football scholarship. Used to have friends, but then he just slipped into that leather jacket.”

Jughead bites his tongue, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he has no intention of ever slipping into the leather jacket. FP’s been in treatment for just over a week, and Penny is obviously trying to make clear the extent of their arrangement. 

“This isn’t a small loan, Jones. Combined with DeSantos, I’m going to need you to up your volume, or else we’re going to need to find another arrangement once the drive-in closes for a season.” Joaquin shoots Jughead a guilty look, and only then does Jughead fully realize the implications of their dealings. Joaquin has been trying to get out.

After Penny leaves, Joaquin apologizes. “I promise, I did not recruit you to drag you into my shit. I’m trying to leave Riverdale, but Penny has had me tied down in debt to her for years. I’m serious about getting out, and I’m not setting you up to take my place. You don’t have a snake on your back, and that means something.”

Jughead knows he won’t ever understand Joaquin’s world. Even though he’s on the outskirts, the Northside weirdo, he wouldn’t last long on the Southside either. Still, being of both worlds and neither, and he can understand why someone would be ready to leave altogether. So, they make a plan. Joaquin will look into Northside dealers to increase their base; Jughead nudges him towards Reggie Mantle, but wonders if their suppliers might be all the same. With fireworks booming faintly from town and sizzling more hazardously down the road at Sunnyside, Jughead makes his way to Pops. Betty will be at the fireworks, surely, but if she’s not, he can take it. His meeting with Penny echoed how right she was from the beginning. 

He swings through the doors to an empty dining car, hat in literally in hand as he approaches the long blonde ponytail at the counter. 

“Can I help you?” Betty doesn’t meet his eye, but poises her order pad anyway.

“The usual," he mumbles softly.

“You mean not taking responsibility for the people you’ve hurt? Coming right up, asshole.”

She goes to the kitchen and Jughead lays his forehead against the cool metal counter. He deserves every ounce of her vitriol, but he’s not sure what to do about it. 

Betty comes back a while later, onion rings and a hamburger in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He thanks her and takes the plate to a booth in the corner, but in his periphery he sees her watch him go, her green eyes sad but maybe, just a hint relieved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things:
> 
> -It may serve some clarity (and hints!) to re-read the present day portion of this chapter after reading the past portion. 
> 
> -Re: the present... I KNOW, OKAY. Can't they just be happy?!?! I'm yelling, too. STOP WRITING ANGST, OLIVIA. But not fear not. This is a big Important moment and I promise the fallout will not be Drama. Progress in relationship is not always linear! 
> 
> -I patently refuse to believe that Betty and Ethel are the only girls in the Riverdale universe to ever find Jughead crush-worthy; and even then, that Betty had never thought about Jughead that way before. There were always a few people in my middle school and high school that general consensus decided were attractive, but weren't 'cool' enough to actually pursue, and I totally think that's Jug. Basically, Jughead the 8th grade dreamboat is my headcanon gospel truth.
> 
> -For anyone who may be feeling any kind of way of the serpent-y elements : I am employing their existence in a way that is Quite Different from canon and have much more influence over a few *events* in this story than *major character development* 
> 
>  
> 
> as always, i would adore to hear ANY of your thoughts, long or short, analytical or incoherent in the comments! they have made a world of difference in my motivation to chug away at this chapter whilest drowning in other much less school tasks!
> 
> also i'm on tumblr @iconic-ponytail


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooo i'm flying in from the midst of an episode of pure February/March hell and end of quarter turmoil to give y'all THIS before i fly off and bury myself in school for the next two weeks!
> 
> thank you everyone, as always, for all your lovely-ness re: this story. I would not have gotten this far without your lovely comments and encouragements and flails. 
> 
> i've added a few ship tags, none of which should be huge shockers at this point, but I don't want to be an asshole and let tags slip through the cracks to the upset of anyone!
> 
> as always, i looooooooove your comments, please leave me one if you are so able :)

Every once in a long while, Jughead wishes he had the lack of life experience to get drunk, to be utterly obliterated. Usually, these moments occur when he wishes, for once, that he wouldn’t be regulated to caring for drunk Archie during his own holiday parties. That he wasn’t the awkward fifth limb with Joaquin on weekends in college; Joaquin, who never felt the same hesitation or fear about familial predispositions to addiction.

When Betty leaves the kitchen, Jughead wants anything to staunch the outpouring, to blur the sharp edges of euphoria and heartache. He considers the bottles on the counter, on the fridge shelves, but when he imagines taking a sip, he still feels her mouth’s imprint on his. He still feels the volume of her kinked hair between his fingers. Without any hesitation, he could have laced his hands through it and slipped into oblivion. In sobriety, there is nothing but asking, _Did I fuck up? Will I keep losing you?_

 

Jughead hadn’t seen it coming, even after the hours of flirting that boosted his confidence enough to tiptoe towards the questions that had been burning in his mind for weeks: _How much did you hate me? Can you forgive me, again?_ Now Betty’s tears, the shock of him pulling away, the momentary fury that flashed across her face before her brow cracked with shame—they are answers enough, confirmation that this loop of theirs may never complete. They’ll circle each other but never meet. That, more than anything, hurts like hell.

 

Jughead’s head spins without any liquid encouragement. He thinks he hears voices upstairs—Veronica’s—and has no idea what he’s supposed to do next. The milkshake is the first thing in front of him; he gulps it down like it will muffle the cacophony of thoughts bubbling up.

 

The kiss, like a dormant virus, had flooded him with a kind of hunger and possibility he hasn’t entertained in a long time. It was shocking, not just because she moved so quickly, but how much came back to him in that split second. How much he had forgotten about comfort and ease, terror and safety, and the sheer intensity of nerve endings.

 

Slippery and without permission, his all-too-sober mind lands on it:

 

_I love her._

  
  
  
  
  


Honestly, Jughead neither stopped or started loving Betty in the first place. By the time he knew,  it had been creeping up on him for a decade. In the same way, it wasn’t that he _forgot_. Leaving had necessitated temporary amnesia. Making that decision had been excruciating; surviving had been all about numbing.

 

The admission propels Jughead upstairs, not sure what to do when he gets there. He doesn’t want to blurt this out, to scare her even more, but she deserves to know just how much he wanted it. After everything, Betty deserved more than impulsivity. Jughead needed to know their heads were on straight, too. That there was more than this moment, this night. That this wasn’t a way to close the door on their past, but to open one on the future.

 

Betty’s room is empty, the door open. Jughead turns and knocks on Veronica’s door to no response. He’s about to give up, to go back downstairs. He even sends a text to Betty: _Did you leave?_ when Toni opens the door wrapped in a silk, maroon robe.

 

“We’re in it now, aren’t we?” Her voice is steely but not angry. Jughead decides to skip over his own questions regarding Toni’s state of undress in Veronica’s bedroom.

 

“Is she okay? Have you seen her?”

 

Toni hesitates. “I want to tell you that she’s fine, but I don’t know. Veronica talked to her and then helped her take her stuff downstairs.”

 

Betty left. He understands, or he’s supposed to. The instinct had crossed his mind, too. Still, the question pricked persistently: _Is this my fault?_ Maybe he had been too taken by her earnesty, the openness of her gaze on him all evening. He shouldn’t have touched her hair, but the wave poking out from behind her ear was shaped perfectly for his finger to loop through. He shouldn’t have tackled her in the ocean like they were teenagers. He shouldn’t have made the milkshake or brought up her moratorium on his existence for the past four years. He shouldn’t have even come this weekend.

 

Distantly, he hears himself thank Toni before crossing the hall to the Betty’s room and gently closing the door.

  
  
  
  


 

 

Jughead lays on her bed. At least, that’s how he thinks of it, even though the sheets smell faintly of detergent rather than his fragmented scent memories. The sheets are a little too starched and he curses the fact that she is connected to every goddamn innocuous object in his universe at this point.

 

It’s nearing 3 AM, and he knows he can’t call Archie or Joaquin. Usually, Jughead isn’t an external processor; he took a sharp turn at Toni’s door at the prospect of Veronica walking back up the stairs and demanding a rehashing. Right now, though, he wants to get it all out, to let the dominant emotion rise to the top and give him somewhere to stand, to go forward from.

 

Instead of dialing the phone, he imagines what Archie might say. _Hey Arch. Betty and I were in the Hamptons for Labor Day and she kissed me. Oh, right, I didn’t tell you that we’ve been working together for weeks and we still can’t manage to talk about anything that happened in Riverdale. Right, that’s exactly why Betty freaked out and fled back to the city. Anyway, I am definitely still in love with her!_

 

Archie would be happy, at least, that he and Betty were friends again, though Jughead can’t stop panicking that maybe that isn’t true anymore. Archie would say it’s a good sign that she kissed him, even if it didn’t go well. She still feels drawn to him as more than a friend. They just need to figure out if they can put everything else behind them.

 

Joaquin would see things from Jughead’s perspective a bit better, never having shared a yard, a bedroom window view, or every secret of his entire life with Betty Cooper, as Archie had. Still, it’s too soon to let Joaquin press him on the logistics, the practicalities.

 

He checks his phone for the millionth time: no reply. Jughead starts typing.

**_Take your time. Let me know when we can talk. Really talk, I promise. I’m ready whenever you are. I love you, Betty._ **

 

He writes and deletes the last sentence immediately, but presses send before he lets himself delete any more.

  
  
  
  


 

After eventually drifting off around seven, Jughead manages about 45 minutes of sleep before he wakes to Veronica at the door, mug of coffee in hand. He’s fully dressed in the same clothes as the night before.

 

“I think we’re going to leave sooner rather than later,” she says, setting the cup on the nightstand and standing awkwardly next to the bed.

 

Jughead grunts and sits up. “Okay.” He reaches of the coffee cup and drinks deeply, even though it’s several degrees too hot. “Thank you.”

 

“How are you doing?”

 

Jughead pats the foot of the bed so that she’ll stop hovering. “I don’t think there is a singular adjective for what’s going on.”

 

“Of course not,” Veronica rolls her eyes. “But don’t evade.”

 

He takes another deep slurp, leaving only a few gulps left. “Did she get home?”

 

Veronica nods, but flashes her eyes sharply. “I’m asking about you, Jughead. What happened?”

 

“One minute I was making her a milkshake and the next second she left the milkshake on the counter and went for my face.” He’s being dramatic, and Veronica scowls.

 

“I understand if you’re reeling but Jug, come on. Our girl is terrified and spiraling and I need to know what got her there.”

 

Neither ‘terrified’ nor ‘spiraling’ sound like Betty is okay and Jughead’s stomach falls sharply. “I asked why she never told Toni about me. About… us. I guess I wanted a way to talk about it because we haven’t. I could tell things were escalating and I wanted to talk about it before something like this happened. But it happened anyway.”

 

Veronica listens intently, nodding. “She wasn’t ready, either. But I think she will want to talk, and you need to get it all out. Both of you.”

 

Jughead drains the rest of the coffee. “I’m kind of terrified about how that will play out.”

 

“I don’t think you need to be,” Veronica sighs, her lips curling upward. “But, only because I have faith in you both, I’m willing to boker some kind of insurance.”

 

He balks a little at her swift change of tone. “Insurance of what?”

 

Veronica doesn’t respond immediately, the gears clearly turning as she stands and takes his coffee cup. “Time. Listen, don’t worry about that part. You need to think about how to get all of your shit out on the table with one another. By which, of course, I mean that you better not break her heart, Jones, I swear to god.”

 

With that, Veronica slips into the bathroom, gathers a few items by the sink, and heads for the door. “The car is arriving in thirty and will leave in thirty-five.”

  
  
  
  


 

 

Joaquin isn’t home when Smithers drops Jughead off, so he stews for the rest of the day.  He and Betty aren’t scheduled to work together again until Thursday, but he’s still reeling when the clock passes noon on Tuesday.

 

He works Tuesday night, perked up minimally by a job interview on Friday with a decent-sized and moderately reputable online publication. It’s not his dream job, but it’s a huge step in the direction of writing to earn a living. On the way home, he makes sure to call and tell his mom the news, fresh off her own shift. Still, he’s itching to tell Betty more than anybody, and he can’t.

 

Wednesday, he wakes to a message.

 

_I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to respond. Can you come over for dinner tonight? Veronica won’t be home._

 

Jughead’s fingers reply faster than his brain can even think. **_Yes. What time?_ **

 

_Oh, right. Does 8 work?_

 

**_I’ll be there._ **

  
  
  


 

 

The train gets delayed about ten blocks from Betty’s apartment, so Jughead gets off early. Walking helps avoid the nervous tremor simmering through every movement, every thought. He hasn’t considered what he might say, what he might ask. It feels much longer than three days since he’s seen Betty. He’s worried above all else that he’ll say something utterly idiotic like, “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

The last time Jughead felt even close to this overwhelmed was the housewarming party, which ended with them sitting on the rooftop, feeling like time had collapsed and he was the luckiest idiot in the world to have her back in his life, whatever she wanted. That was probably the best place to start; the place they had always started and ended. _I want what you want, Betty._

 

Jughead crosses the street to their walk-up and rings the bell. The buzzer answers immediately, and when he reaches the top of the stairs, the door is cracked for him and the smell of roasted tomatoes wafts through the hall.

 

“Um, I’m here,” he announces awkwardly.

 

“In the kitchen!” Betty calls.

 

She stands over the stove, looking impossibly herself in an apron with pink pom-pom tassels and stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon.

 

“That smells amazing.” He swallows back most of his words, his instincts to stand next to her and beg for a taste, to tease her about her cute apron, to kiss her forehead, to whisper in her ear _you didn’t have to do this._

 

She looks up at him with the slightest smile. “It’s a bolognese. And there is garlic bread in the oven.” Jughead notes the salad (heavily cheesed—she knows her audience) on the counter and a pot of boiling water for pasta.

 

“Seriously, you didn’t have to do all this.”

 

Betty shrugs. “I thought we might need something to focus on. Something to do with our hands.”

 

His stomach flips with guilt, but he doesn’t know what to do about it besides wait for the inevitable. “Can I get plates out or anything?”

 

“Oh, yes, that would be great. Furthest cabinet on the right. Silverware is in the drawer on the island.”

 

Jughead moves to get the plates, the utensils, and even notes some cloth napkins. Only Betty Cooper would have cloth dinner napkins at the age of 22. She had been his lifeline in Bed Bath and Beyond for a reason.

 

His phone buzzes with a text from Veronica as Betty drains the pasta: _After you finish eating, go up to the roof._ Jughead resists rolling his eyes, remembering Veronica’s cryptic hints about “time.”

 

**_Why? What’s on the roof? Is that supposed to be some kind of smooth move?_ **

 

_Honestly, Jones, please just listen and thank me later._

 

“Okay,” Betty sighs. “Let’s eat.”

  


 

 

 

 

They make it halfway through their plates with halting small talk. He gushes over her culinary skills. She congratulates him on the job interview. Otherwise, silence settles heavily as their forks clink until Betty sets down her utensils and takes a big gulp from her wine glass. Jughead finds himself setting his fork down, too, knowing that even food cannot help him feel better in this moment.

 

“I want to start with an apology.” Betty sounds formal, like she’s leading a pitch meeting, but Jughead knows this is how she detaches when nervous. “I think this conversation would be a lot easier if last weekend didn’t go like it did.”

 

She’s winding up, so he bites back the apology he’s been brewing for days. Her eyes focus intently on her plate. “Obviously there are a lot of unresolved emotions, at least for me, in our history. And I knew it would be a bad idea to resolve it like… that. It was also not fair to you.”

 

“Betts,” Jughead starts, his arm flinching with the instinct to reach over and touch hers, to take her hand; he restrains himself. “It’s okay. We’ve needed to talk. Unresolved emotions might be… an understatement for me.” A flush creeps up his neck when Betty looks up, her eyes finally unguarded. Meeting her gaze, he continues deliberately, “But I’ve said this before and it’s always been true. I want whatever you want, Betty. Whatever that is, it’s okay with me.”

 

Betty’s brow furrows and her mouth twists into a frown, her face contorted into the kind of grimace she might show Alice, but never one she’s directed at him.

 

“Except what about all the times when that wasn’t true, Jug?” Her voice breaks. “What about when what I wanted wasn’t what you chose? What about when I called you in Toledo to tell you my family was fucking falling apart and my sister had to run away from a convent and join a farm commune to be safe from my parents?” Betty’s voice is trembling and Jughead feels the blow of every word.

 

Betty plows on, hitching up the volume, “And I know, we were still underage and you didn’t have a lot of choice, but before that, I still felt like you were _with_ me, even from far away. So don’t pretend like that was you wanting what I wanted.” Betty punctuates her sentence by picking up her fork and stabbing her salad.

 

“I came back because of you, Betts,” he mumbles, his voice so low he almost can’t discern it himself. “My dad started out as an excuse of sorts, but it was because of you.”

 

Betty takes another bite of salad, chewing slowly and breathing deeply. “I know. I forgave you for that a long time ago. I’ve forgiven you for all of it, Jug.” She pauses to meet his eyes. “But I need you to understand how badly it hurt, every time. When you were dealing for the Serpents… I didn’t handle that the way I should have, either. I didn’t help you get out of that. That’s something I have never stopped regretting. It took me years to stop wondering what could have happened if I had done something more, or sooner. Even once I forgave you, after that summer, I still held you at arms length because I was afraid of getting too close, of falling into that.”

 

Jughead shakes his head, both touched and incredulous. “You know I wouldn’t and didn’t let you anywhere near that.”

 

“But do you ever wonder what could have been different if you had?”

 

He should admit that he thought about it, too, that it creeped into his consciousness like a bad dream. Brushing his teeth. During th gap between his fifth alarm and his sixth. When that damn song came on the radio, or in coffee shops, or television soundtracks. But then, he’d think of FP, sober without relapse, attending morning and evening AA meetings, bringing home new members for pizza. Clapping him on the shoulder. _This is my boy. He’s the reason I’m still here._

 

“Do you think we could get some air?” Jughead gestures to the roof. The instruction from Veronica isn’t really a factor anymore. He needs a moment to think, to parse out exactly what to say. She needs to hear something from him and it needs to be true.

 

Betty nods, reaching over clear their plates. They slip out the window to the fire escape and Jughead stands behind Betty as they climb, cautiously ready to steady her if she slips. They settle on the front ledge, only a few inches between them, but Jughead feels every bit of that distance.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Betty prompts softly.

 

“Of course I wonder. I wish that it had happened differently, for you. I don’t want you to think I never regretted leaving, or not coming to New York for school because fuck, Betty. I missed you so much. But I don’t regret that my dad is sober and living a life he never could have imagined for himself in Riverdale.”

 

Betty nods. “I’ll never fault you for taking care of your dad. I tried for so long to put myself in your place and find a way out that didn’t have to break my heart, Juggie.” Her voice cracks on ‘heart,’ and Jughead’s hand flies to her face. They face each other, legs dangling on either side of the roof ledge.

 

“I’m so sorry, “ he whispers, thumbing the tear streaks from her cheeks. “I broke mine, too.” She starts to shake with sobs and he moves closer, wrapping his arms around her and letting her head fall to his shoulder.

 

“I still hate Memorial Day,” Betty mumbles into his neck. “I still hate the smell of barbeque smoke. I don’t remember anything after ten a.m. on the day of high school graduation. I didn’t work at Pop’s that summer. I couldn’t even go there. Veronica’s mom gave us internships in the city and we stayed in her penthouse and my mom only barely let me leave home early. And I never talked about you because it hurt so much.”

 

Jughead feels a tear fall down his own face. “I missed you all the time. In the library. In my car. It was like… a rip in the universe.” Her sobs intensify and he holds her closer, as if they can physically stitch the tear back together _._

 

As nighttime clouds start to settle ominously above them, Betty lifts her head and pulls out from his embrace. “What now?” she asks.

 

Jughead pauses, the same vow that he betrayed so many times already reforming. Instead, he twists them. “I have always wanted us, Betty. Always hoped for us, held onto us. That’s why I’m here. And I understand if that’s not what you want, or if you need more time to talk or think. But this time, I’m staying, and you get to decide.”

 

Betty’s face softens. Slowly and tenderly, she reaches for his face, cupping his cheek in her hand. He leans into it, flooded with relief that it feels the same as ever.

 

“Okay.”

 

It’s not clear what’s about to happen, if she’s going to lean into him, if she’s going to name her choice. Either way, the heavens open up on top of them.

 

They’re soaked within seconds, springing up and running through the downpour to the fire escape. He grips the rail and winds his arm around Betty’s waist so she doesn’t slip on the slick metal.

 

Jughead jimmies the kitchen window open and tumbles in first, dripping on the kitchen floor. Betty follows behind him, and he’s about to reach to lend her a hand when he hears a distinct _moan_ from the living room. Taking a few steps closer, he notes the forms of Veronica and Toni in various states of undress, writhing on the living room floor.

 

Betty freezes at the kitchen island, seeing into the living room. Jughead is far more surprised that their comings and goings from a propped window during the onslaught of a thunderstorm don’t disturb Toni and Veronica than the entanglement itself; the aftermath in the Hamptons had been confirmation enough. Clearly, to Betty the hint had not prepared her for her two best friends peeling each other’s clothes off in the middle of her living room.

 

A crack of thunder shudders. Betty’s hair, already dripping from the rain, drizzles the floor as she turns to him, realizing they are trapped. They can’t go back to the rooftop in a thunderstorm. They can’t go out the front door without interrupting what is only escalating steeply between Toni and Veronica. Betty seems to make the same connections as Jughead and motions him toward the opposite end of their hallway, towards Betty’s bedroom.

 

They move quickly but quietly, and only when Betty’s bedroom door closes firmly do either of them speak.

 

“Did you know?” Betty demands, still dazed.

 

“Not exactly, no,” Jughead mutters, the realization dawning that this is exactly what Veronica had implied by _insurance_ . Nothing like _time_ in the bedroom of the only girl you’re ever loved, the only girl whose heart you’ve ever broken. Only Veronica would consider this an advantage—he’s just laid almost everything out to her. Betty could certainly decide not to care about his social embarrassment and ask him to leave.

 

Betty is transfixed on the wall, deep in a calculation. His frustration at Veronica only increases, seeing that this hasn’t helped their evening, but clotheslined Betty into a new reckoning.

 

“They must have thought I was working. But the dishes? Wouldn’t they have noticed?” She begins to pace, tidying up out of distraction or his presence.

 

It is classic Veronica, he knows, to distract Betty at inopportune moments, the surprise tryst unfolding between her two best friends supplanting the intense emotional conversation that had just been interrupted by a thunderstorm.

 

“You have a back door, right? I could go out that.” Jughead doesn’t want the out, he wants to get through this, but Betty is clearly thrown.

 

“And risk them hearing you? No way. If they hear, if they think I’m you, Toni is going to come and decide we need to process this as a group and… no, nope, not a chance!” Betty, still in her drenched clothes, is manically tossing clothing into small piles. _Something to do with my hands._ His heart warms as he recognizes the habits she’s worked to disrupt, and just like that, his frustration is gone.

 

This is Betty Cooper, after all, who still, after all his deficiencies, after bad luck and poor choices, forgives him. Who has chosen and nurtured herself without a chorus of cheerleaders pushing her every day. She’s always done it on her own, pompoms or not. He loves her, and he wants to join that team for as long as she’ll have him.

 

Jughead shifts on his feet, looking around for an easy entry point. “The alternative being… what, exactly?”

 

“We stay here until they leave. Or go into Veronica’s bedroom.”

 

“Okay. Are we deep cleaning the room or…?” He trails off, distracted by her dimple of concentration—the same one he’d get caught staring at across the Blue and Gold office.

 

Betty stops folding a pair of leggings and catches his gaze. “What?”

 

“I…”

 

The dimple intensifies. “Spit it out, Jug.”

 

“There is a cycle of things I think about every second I look at you. Like how insanely talented you are, how intense and passionate, how beautiful.”

 

Betty’s eyes have gone soft. “Even when I’ve been attacked by a raincloud?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe especially.” He can’t help grinning.

  
  
  


 

 

Betty lends Jughead some dry clothes; her sweats are a little short on him, but the NYU orientation shirt is his size (“They ran out of smalls. I usually sleep in it.”)

 

They reminisce about their college lives, filling each other in on the trivial pieces they’d missed. Betty recites every famous person she’s ever run into in New York (Jughead feels a kick of jealousy hearing that she met Greta Gerwig once on the L train). Jughead recounts the first and only sporting event he attended at Syracuse (“Some random girl handed me a jello shot. I thought it was just a shallow cup of jello, Betts. That’s when I learned what hell is.”)

 

It’s nearing midnight before he dares to ask if they should check on the Toni and Veronica situation. Betty sticks her head out the door just the slightest, then closes it quickly.

 

“I mean, they’re not still _going_ but definitely still in the living room.”

 

“Betts, I am so tired. I’m going out. I’ll make them go to Veronica’s room. That is, if it’s okay for me to crash on your couch?” Jughead starts for the door.

 

“No! I mean… Don’t go out there. You can stay. My bed is… I mean, it’s a double.” Betty blushes furiously, kick-starting Jughead’s pulse as his eyes move from Betty to her bed. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

 

He sputters, “Oh. Yes. I mean, thank you. I mean, sure.”

 

Jughead and Betty move swiftly, nearly robotically around each other, as if now the only possible course of action is to immediately take their separate sides, moving with care to not accidentally brush against one another.

 

Lying on their backs with the covers pulled up, Betty clicks off the light. Despite being consumed by contagious yawns mere minutes ago, Jughead feels wider than awake with her next to him. Betty breathes loudly and deeply—in through the nose, out through the mouth. After ten breaths, he reaches over to her under the blankets, taking her hand.

 

“Is this okay?” Jughead whispers into the darkness.

 

Betty squeezes back. “More than okay.”

 

Even if it takes several hours for him to really drift off—too anchored by their intertwined fingers—it’s the best damn insomnia of Jughead’s life.

  
  
  
  


* * *

 

 

**_Senior Year_ **

  


 

All summer, Betty endured her mother’s ceaseless prattle about starting senior year without distractions.

 

“I’m glad you haven’t gotten caught up in boys like your sister,” Alice clips as she breezes into Pop’s one afternoon and watches Betty deliberately ignore Jughead wave her down for a cup of coffee.

 

“I do think you could be using your time better than these hours at the diner but maybe it will make you seem more hardscrabble. I think colleges like that now.” Betty wonders if her mother notes that she ignores her advice the same way as Jughead; it’s not there.

 

When senior year begins in earnest, though, distractions seem like all Betty has.

 

Archie comes back from a back to back stint of football and music camp in his hyper-focused, full-steam-ahead mode, which Betty has learned to avoid rather than continually confront the bitterness that their friendship comes in second to his extracurriculars. Archie’s constant preoccupations have become less of a sting over the past couple of years. Having Veronica gives her both constancy and a buffer for Archie’s insufferable moments.

 

Senior-year Betty knows that Archie will always be her family, in a way, even if they aren’t always the closest of friends. At least, this is her mantra when he blows her off repeatedly at the start of the school year for a run or a ‘jam sesh.’

 

The effects of hyper-focused Archie domino into Veronica, too. Betty knows she’s leaned hard on Veronica over the summer because she wasn’t talking to Jughead; they’d spent most moments outside of Betty’s shifts at Pop’s together. Then, in August, Veronica had gotten strangely evasive every few days, but she shrugged it off as Veronica missing Archie a lot. But now, back at school, Veronica and Archie aren’t the same. They look past each other, it seems. Maybe they have just dialed back the gratuitous public displays of affection, but for them, that seems like an alarm bell.

 

In the locker room, a few weeks into the school year, Betty tries to bring up Archie’s intensity around football and music with Veronica. “Is it hard for you two when he gets like this?”

 

Veronica is expressionless as she laces her Keds for Vixens practice. “Like what?”

 

“You know, like he can’t sleep or hang out at lunch or call you back because he should be doing more pull-ups or writing songs?”

 

Veronica furrows her brow. “He’s not calling you back? What a dick. I’ll talk to him.”

 

“No, V, that’s not what I meant. I mean, it doesn’t bother you?”

 

Veronica looks torn for a moment. “I have a lot to focus on, too, I guess.”

 

Cheryl interrupts any further questioning from Betty by barking, “Lodge! Cooper! I’m not running group therapy here! Let’s go, Chatty Cathys!”

 

Betty catches the edge of a smile on Veronica’s lips. Veronica shrugs. “What? Cheryl is refreshingly constant at least.”

 

Still, Betty finds dwelling on the rift between her best friends a necessity to avoiding the chief issue. She’s never focused on Veronica and Archie’s ups and downs much in the past few years; the fixation is another layer of distraction, a veil over the greatest conundrum of all: her feelings about Jughead Jones.

 

Jughead and Betty have been back on speaking terms since Labor Day weekend, but even into October, he’s treading lightly with everyone, especially Veronica. Even if V knows that Betty has forgiven him, her tolerance is icy.

 

Archie’s ambivalence only fuels Betty’s muted frustration with him. Their professed oldest friend had needed them, maybe Archie even more than herself, and they hadn’t seen his desperation. Betty would understand anger; she has plenty of that herself. Archie doesn’t hesitate to interact with Jug, but it’s on the way to whatever is next—writing a duet with the Pussycats or doing extra strength training with Reggie.

 

On their own, Betty and Jughead fall into old rhythms reminiscent of early sophomore year, before the accident. They partner in science lab—physics this year. Their schedules find a natural cadence; Betty can find Jughead doing homework in the Blue and Gold office every morning if she needs to avoid the chilliness between Archie and Veronica. They both arrive every day after school and fall back into the routine. Monday for writing, Tuesday for editing, Wednesday is the pitch meeting and final decisions. Thursday is still for layout and final edits, sending the issue to print. Friday, there is the football game to cheer at, but Jughead doesn’t appear until she’s swapped out her cheer uniform for her Pop’s one and clocks in for her night shift. He’ll stay late with her, begging for kitchen mistakes and playing her favorite songs on the jukebox.

  
  
  
  


 

October passes; Archie gets meetings with football scouts. Betty makes an extra dark chocolate cake for Jughead’s birthday but she can’t muster up the courage to hang out with him alone at the Bijou when Archie bails. By November, as they all finalize their prospective college application lists, it’s evident that senior year is neither as fun or as carefree as anyone expected. Veronica applies early decision to Columbia. Betty knows that Archie does not.

 

In fact, Archie does quite the opposite. Thanksgiving break quickly deteriorates when Polly calls and refuses to speak to Hal. Under the volume of her parents shouting, Betty finds her nails pricking her palms. She slips out the back door to calm down and starts to climb the treehouse ladder on a whim.

 

Archie must see her in the dark as he’s taking out the recycling. “Wait for me!” Archie calls and Betty is startled, a surprised smile crossing her face. Up in the treehouse, Archie asks all of the expected questions about her parents fighting, offering sweet but unhelpful advice about his own experiences with parental conflict. The amicable Fred and Mary Andrews were hardly a parallel for the Cooper family dysfunction.

 

“Just a few more months,” Bety murmurs almost prayerfully, tracing their initials on the wooden floor beneath her, carved with Jughead’s pocket knife in middle school.

 

“Where are you applying?” Archie asks, and Betty hates that she wants to roll her eyes, hates that he’s only asking now, hates the hypocrisy that she doesn’t know Archie’s plans either.

 

“A couple places, but I’m pretty set on NYU’s journalism school. You?”

 

Archie shrugs. “I’ve been hoping for football scholarships, but all the music programs I’m interested in are in California. I would hate to be so far from my dad but…” As he trails off, Betty can read the enthusiasm Archie tries to suppress.

 

“But you really want it, don’t you? What about you and V?”

 

Archie furrows his brow in his patented puppy-dog confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Betty bites back a sarcastic comment and files it away to tell Jug later. “Is it hard to talk about these decisions with her?”

 

Archie’s confusion morphs into something more complicated, something so unlike Archie that Betty struggles to name it. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

It’s a non-answer, but she can tell it hasn’t been as suppressed as she thought. More alarming, Archie’s dreams of moving across the country reveal a different Archie and Veronica than Betty has third-wheeled for the better part of two years. These conversations were not Archikins and Ronnie anymore, and Betty doesn’t know what to make of that.

 

She also can’t help but think of Jughead. The SUNY website is pulled up occasionally on his B&G computer, but Betty wonders with a pit of worry if he’ll go back to Ohio. Then again, FP got out of rehab only a few weeks ago; the idea that he’d take off to the midwest seemed unlikely. She wants to push him, she knows Jughead has a lot more potential than he gives himself credit for. Still, it’s a line she doesn’t dare cross. Not when he hasn’t asked her, either, though she leaves an NYU magazine lying around the newspaper office, waiting for him to bring it up.

  
  
  
  
  


By December, Betty starts to think that maybe she and Jughead have moved past the awkwardness. Whatever their undefined, almost-but-not-quite relationship had been, they’ve moved on to something simple and stable. At least, Betty believes this until the week before winter break, when she falls asleep at her desk in B&G office.

 

Alice and Hal had been fighting loudly the night before, the stomps and door slams not muffled much by the walls. Betty woke for school exhausted and still anxious, so she dug into her medicine cabinet for the Xanax. Betty had consented to a few doctor’s appointments in the aftermath of Alice’s pill onslaught, but she rarely reached for the vial. By the end of the school day she was so sluggish, she passed out in her desk chair.

 

Vaguely, she hears Jughead’s voice, but she’s not sure if it comes from her dream; either way she can’t hear the words distinctly. There is a gentle shake of her shoulder, but she huffs and pulls away, not wanting to be woken. She slips back into sleep, but very far away, she feels his lips press a kiss to her hairline. Betty doesn’t move; she doesn’t want him to note the sudden hammering of her heart. Waking almost two hours later, her eyelids flutter open to Jughead’s gentle smirk. The rush that floods her is anything but friendly, simple, or stable.

 

This very small wedge of possibility opens wider over winter break. Betty takes on as many shifts at Pop’s as possible to avoid Alice and her manic Christmas preparations and finds Jughead there most days, sitting up at the counter and letting her read some of his writing in exchange for free coffee. Archie and Fred sell Christmas trees in the parking lot, so she runs coffee out to them every few hours, too. Veronica comes by once a day for a perfunctory kiss to Archie’s cheek and a club sandwich for lunch.

 

Jughead admits one night that he applied to a few ‘unrealistic’ schools at the urging of their school counselor: Syracuse, Fordham, and NYU. He knows he can’t afford any of them, but the guidance counselor seemed optimistic about financial aid. Betty is over-the-moon, gushing in support. She doesn’t mention NYU directly, but she knows he’s seen her promotional materials, left some of her application materials lying around. It seems foolish, given their track record, to tempt hope or fate.  
  
  
  


 

 

Somehow, January flies by with finals and application deadlines. Plus, Veronica forced the Student Council to plan an extra dance. “We need to liven up the winter,” she argues. “The seniors are in a weird depressive state. Thus, I propose a Valentine’s Day dance.”

 

Betty’s stomach twists. The last thing she wants is any imposed corporate holiday casting shadow over the friendly, and dare-she-say even teasing rapport she and Jughead have worked their way back to. Also, she can’t avoid going if Veronica chairs the event.

 

Not that she would have to involve Jughead. Not that she would _want_ to.

 

So she listens to Veronica fight Josie tooth and nail over ‘Forbidden Love’ as their theme. When Veronica drags Betty to Centerville for dress shopping, Betty comments, “I think Archie will love the magenta one with the v-neck,” Veronica scrunches up her nose and sets it aside in favor of a blood red satin gown with a low back.

 

To her credit, Veronica never mentions Betty attending with a date or gives her the third degree on her outfit. Betty dons an appropriate color palette of her own pastel pinks, a bright pink dance skirt with a blush crew neck sweater. Jughead raises an eyebrow but offers, “Only you could make me feel guilty about rejecting all this festivity as utter lunacy.”

 

On Valentine’s Day, Betty’s dance responsibilities entail running around placing balloon bunches and adjusting for Josie’s mic tests when the sound volunteer doesn’t show up on time.

 

Veronica arrives fashionably late with Archie nowhere to be seen. Betty makes a beeline for her best friend from across the awkward coupling rituals unfolding around the dance floor.

 

“V! Hey!”

 

Veronica turns and smiles at Betty, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, B. You look sweet. Are you having a good time?”

 

“Um, hanging in there, I guess. Where’s Archie?”

 

Veronica is looking past her, scanning the crowd. “Oh, he’s coming. We’re meeting here because he was working on an audition tape or something.”

 

Betty nods slowly and retreats to the refreshment table, destined to oversee the (literal) sophomoric punch antics.

 

Archie does arrive, and Betty watches him lead Veronica onto the dancefloor just as Cheryl joins Josie onstage for a few duets.

 

Betty misses the beginnings, the spark that lights the fire. Later, she’ll learn that Archie snapped because he’d caught Veronica staring at Cheryl, that he knew, that he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

 

It wasn’t loud, or drawn out. Her best friends broke like a snapped twig, Archie leaving out the side door and Veronica, frozen on the dance floor, her tears lit by the stage lights. Betty takes her hand and leads her quickly out of the gym, ducking into the girls bathroom.

 

Veronica weeps in Betty’s arms for a long while, her tears darkening the red satin of Veronica’s dress to the exact color of blood.

 

With soft coaxing, Veronica starts the story in August.

 

“It was Archie’s first week at music camp when he brought up going to college in California. He met someone cool from LA, a girl named Val. We’d always talked about New York City, about all the opportunities for music there, all the connections my mom has… so of course, we fought. I told him we needed to take a break to think about what we wanted.”

 

Betty remembers how Veronica got sporadically less predictable with Archie gone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Veronica smiles sadly. “You were in the middle of all the stuff with Jughead… I thought my relationship troubles seemed petty.”

 

“Oh, V. No,” Betty cooes.

 

“Anyway. Then Archie hooked up with her. Val.”

 

Betty’s jaw drops. “ _What?_ ” She had never felt so capable of violence, but Betty wants to claw her fingers into Archie’s face.

 

“We broke up after that. For a few weeks, while he was gone. So it wasn’t really a break up. He came back and we both just felt too overwhelmed to really end it. And I couldn’t tell him the truth.”

 

Betty has a hard time concentrating on Veronica’s words. After the weeks, the _months_ of observing Veronica and Archie’s strange, shifted dynamic, she’d missed all of this. Had she really seemed so miserable that Veronica wouldn’t tell her any of this along the way? Was she _that_ caught up?

 

Concentrating back on Veronica’s words, Betty asks, “What truth?”

 

Veronica takes a deep breath. “That I like women. Love them. Like, more than I ever liked boys.”

 

Betty reaches for her friend immediately, taking her hand and squeezing. “V—”

 

“Just let me get this out. The last week of summer before school started? I kissed Cheryl in the locker room, after a Vixen’s captains meeting. She… kissed me back. And then she said I couldn’t tell anyone, that it didn’t mean anything. But I knew it meant so much more, and still, it seemed easier to try again with Archie. That it would help how much it hurt.”

 

“But it didn’t.”

 

“No. And Archie started noticing that I never initiated any affectionate stuff. Tonight, I think he finally put it together.”

 

Betty feels the finality press resolutely around them. “V, I love you, no matter who you love. I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you, or if you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”

 

The tears fall fresh from Veronica’s eyes. “I know, Betty. I just… I needed to figure out alone, I think.”

 

They clean up their tears with the rough, school bathroom paper towels. “What now?” Betty asks, “Movies? Ice cream? How can I be of service, V?”

 

Veronica texts for Smithers to pick her up. “I think I need to be alone. But I promise, you’ll be my first call.”

 

They hug for a long time. “Well, now we can focus on the most important dream of all. You, me, and Manhattan,” Betty whispers.

 

“Now that,” Veronica speaks, her voice thick with a fresh round of tears, “That’s my real dream come true.”

  
  
  
  
  


Betty leaves Veronica, but when she walks to the intersection that will lead north to Elm or jut south towards Pops, she veers south. She can’t face these fractures that feel inevitable. She thought this year would feel careless, like a teenage victory lap. In some ways, Archie and Veronica’s rebellions fit the ‘careless’ bill, but Betty can’t unsee Veronica’s heart bleeding into her words about what she’d felt with Cheryl, or the shame lacing her whispers. No, Betty wants true, teenage impulsivity. Not paying off gang leaders or coming out to your boyfriend. She knows those are realities, but she wants to hold onto the ephemeral slivers of youth and foolishness as long as they can. This is the only time they have.

 

So she passes Pop’s and continues toward Sunnyside. She wants the truck, and truthfully, she wants Jughead, too.

 

He stands on the steps of the trailer, like he’d been expecting her,, absurd, given that Betty hasn’t come to Sunnyside since June. It was one of their invisible borders, documented in some unwritten treaty of forgiveness.

 

“Archie just left,” he says and she knows they’re both on the same train of thought.

 

“Do you want to go for a drive?” she asks and Jughead is already digging the keys to the truck from his pockets and tossing them to her.

 

“Take her away.”

 

She rolls the windows down and drives as fast as she’s ever dared down the two-lane highway out of Riverdale. Even the silence between them is electric as Betty winds towards Sweetwater, but unlike much of the past few months, it’s not uncomfortable. They both bear the weight of what has happened: two people they thought of as a unit, an entity, dissolved in a night. Archie and Veronica, their hinge and excuse. It’s a microcosm, she knows, of everything they thought would never change. Of everything impending, casting them all out of Riverdale, fractured.

 

Jughead speaks first. “This is it, isn’t it? The beginning of the end?”

 

Betty swallows the lump of emotion creeping up her throat. “Only if we let it.” Her voice cracks, and she feels his hand in her back, its resting presence grounding her.

 

“When Archie left tonight, I felt like I didn’t know him. Think how much is gonna change in the next few years.”

 

“Jug,” Betty chokes out, “stop. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to worry about that. And I don’t want to hold back, like Veronica, either.” They pass a turn off near the river and Betty pulls in before she’s blinded by her own tears.

 

“Betts…” He slides next to her and covers her hand on the keys, turning the ignition off. His hand lingers and Betty’s pledge to maintain distance dissolves. She slips her other arm inside his jacket, bringing herself into his embrace. He reciprocates, slowly but steadily, reading exactly what she needs.

 

Jughead’s thumb finds the edge of Betty’s jaw and strokes softly. Their faces are almost too close together to actually see one another clearly, but it makes the next movement easier, to lean in and kiss his parted mouth and feel the short gust of air he’d been holding in.

 

Without hesitation, Jughead reaches a hand behind her head to cradle it and deepen the kiss. Betty meets his intensity, unable to name the warmth or passion but feeling it in the shiver down her spine. Her hands find his hair and comb through it so aggressively that his hat slides down his back. Her tears are hardly even dried on her face before the truck cab windows are fogged, before Jughead tugs her onto his lap, his fingers tracing along the outside of her thighs.

 

“Jug-”

 

He leaves her mouth for her collarbone, pressing his lips to it in soft, light kisses in a way that makes her head swirl, makes her forget her own name.

 

“Jug, please-” Betty breathes a plea for more _._

 

When he still only wraps his hands up her back, Betty breaks her own hold on the nape of Jug’s neck and pulls her sweater off from the hem. She’s wearing the same bra she wears most days, pale pink and more than a little worn, but the look on Jughead’s face melts her inhibitions. He pulls her even closer to himself, so forcefully it should hurt, but they both only grip harder, seeking only to eliminate all distrace.

 

Jughead’s mouth trails from her neck to her collarbone and down. His fingers trace the seam of her bra and she hears a muted keening from her own throat. His hands continue to trace the outline of her chest as his lips move lower, burying his face as his presses kisses to her sternum and moving the cups aside.

 

Betty moans, pressing herself into his thigh, desperate for friction. Jughead leans into her rocking hips, running his mouth over her breasts. Betty soon feels herself spiraling, and she’s overwhelmed as she comes, gasping and moaning so loud that it echoes in her ears, her head rolling back. Jughead catches the back of her head and pulls her closer.

 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and Betty buries her face in his neck, thinking this is exactly the kind of carelessness she needs.

  
  
  


 

 

At some point, after she’s dozed off, legs propped over Jughead’s lap and head curled against his shoulder, Jughead nudges her awake.

 

“I really, really don’t want to move you, but it wouldn’t be safe for me to drive you home like this,” he explains. His grin is both smug and gentle.

 

Betty lolls her head to the side and starts to sit up, pausing halfway. “But.. I mean, shouldn’t I...” She gestures to his crotch more directly than she’s ever imagined gesturing toward Jughead’s penis.

 

Color blooms across his cheeks, visible even in the low glow of the dashboard lights. “Another time, perhaps.” Then he pauses, midmotion. “I mean. Assuming… I guess I shouldn’t be assuming.”

 

Jughead’s voice doesn’t betray anything about what he might want. Betty isn’t sure either, exactly, just that she feels so good with him, fogging up the windows of his truck, and she would never turn him down.

 

“I think, after that, we can assume a little bit, Forsythe.” She doesn’t imagine the subtle shiver that runs through him when she calls him by his first name. “But I hardly think we should let Arch or Veronica know anything about this right now.”

 

He nods, adding cautiously, “I’m also asking because Penny… she’s the Serpent I was reporting to. She asked me about you the other day, at Pop’s. If you were like, my girlfriend. I told her no, we’ve just been friends for a long time.” Jughead’s brow is creased so deeply that Betty can’t help but feel some rage brewing in this pit of her stomach towards this woman.

 

“I didn’t like it, Betts,” he whispers.

 

“Are you still paying her off?” Betty pushes.

 

“Not right now, but Joaquin still is, and at this point she’s just inventing shit he owes because she’s bitter about him trying to leave. He’s talked about just going; his aunt lives in Syracuse and said she would take him and his mom in for a while.”

 

Betty nods. She doesn’t know much about Joaquin, about the whole situation, but she can hear it in Jughead’s voice when someone matters to him.

 

“Betty, I… I care about you so much. And the thought of Penny knowing that makes me feel sick.” Jug takes her hand in both of his.

 

“So we don’t tell anyone,” she murmurs, not liking the idea of this woman having any more leverage over Jughead than she already does. Betty pulls her hand in his to her lips and presses a kiss to it, watching his eyes soften. _I care about you so much._ It seems like an understatement, but the next thing, the thing on the tip of her tongue is far too much to be contained in truck cabs or the school newspaper office or the empty trailer in Sunnyside.

  
  
  
  


 

Truthfully, they don’t contain everything else to those places, either. The next week, after the basketball game, Archie marches off the court with his teammates without a glance in the direction of the River Vixens. Veronica pretends to be fine and Betty doesn’t have the slightest clue what to do. Then Jughead texts her from behind the bleachers. Behind the warming house, Jughead hikes up her cheer skirt and she falls apart at his hand, the other woven through her ponytail.

 

The next weekend, Betty and Jughead meet at the trailer while FP works late. They order pizza and watch only the first twenty minutes of Casablanca before Betty strips Jughead’s shirt off and reaches for his belt. This time, he’s the one letting out strangled moans of _her_ name as she works him over the edge.

 

When a late winter blizzard and sub-zero temperatures hits in early March, they are momentarily hampered for rendezvous points; FP’s schedule changes and it’s too cold to park out at Sweetwater for any substantial length of time. In a moment of fervor and creativity, Jughead builds a barricade against the Blue and Gold door and goes down on her against the file cabinets; it’s much better than her sophomore year daydreams could ever have conjured, even though Jughead had to reach up and muffle her moans with his hand. “You’re _so_ loud, Betts, I don’t think this solution is going to work long-term.” Jughead grins, deeply self-satisfied.  

 

Days later, Betty covertly buys a box of condoms at a pharmacy in Seaside, hoping two towns over is far enough to escape the radar of Alice and Hal. Her winter coat is puffy enough to hide the box when she walks inside and tucks them behind the rows of books on her bookshelf, confident that Alice is unlikely to dig them out. She’s not one hundred percent sure when it will feel like the right moment, but she knows she wants it, wants him. Even in the haze of their secret _something_ , Betty knows she trusts him completely.

 

When she comes downstairs, Alice has left a stack of mail unopened; a large manila envelope and several smaller ones. Betty’s heart stops, and she fumbles for the first, worryingly thin, emblazoned with ELIZABETH COOPER and the Columbia University emblem. Tearing it open, she’s surprised that her heart doesn’t fall at _We regret to inform you…_

 

She sets it aside, reaching instead for the the thick envelope with no school insignia. She tears it open, sees the purple New York University letterhead and her heart floods with joy. The final letter, another small and thin one from Cornell means nothing to her.

 

_NYU._

 

Betty calls Veronica, holding her breath for all one and half rings before Veronica’s voice, more alive than she’s heard it in months, yells, “I GOT IN!”

 

“Me too!! Wait, to where?” Betty shrieks back.

 

“Columbia! Wait, you too??”

 

Betty takes a gulp of air through her ear splitting grin. “No, NYU!”

 

“B! Oh my GOD!” They continue shouting and jumping up and down until Betty hears her mother through the front door and comes into the kitchen. Betty hangs up and though she catches her mother’s ceased brow at the sight of the other letters, she hugs Betty with genuine congratulations.

 

“Well, this is cause for celebration. Are you utterly sick of that Chock’lit Shop or will Pop’s suffice for celebration?”

 

Betty floats above all of Riverdale as they drive to Pop’s. Her phone is glowing with messages of excitement from Archie, Josie, Polly, and a long chain of keyboard smashes and emojis from Veronica.

 

The only person she hasn’t told is sitting in his regular booth when they walk in. She doesn’t call out or wave because Alice and Hal still haven’t warmed to Jughead since the accident; Betty doesn’t want to throw a wrench into the rare ease between the Coopers. Jughead nods at her across the diner and she smiles back. Maybe he hasn’t gotten his letter yet, but he will, soon.

  
  
  


 

 

Monday, Betty bounces into the Blue and Gold office and sitting at his desk, Jughead reads her in an instant.

 

“Congrats, Betts. Obviously, I’m not surprised. They’d be idiots not to admit you.”

 

Betty rushes over, resisting the urge to throw herself onto his lap. “You didn’t even let me tell you!”

 

“No need. I got a letter this weekend, so I figured you did, too.”

 

Betty freezes. “Did you get in?” For a moment, everything feels completely vulnerable, a pile of dry kindling and gasoline.

 

Jughead’s face falls an increment. “I got waitlisted.”

 

Betty exhales. “Oh, Jug, you’re going to get in. There’s no way you won’t.”

 

“But they probably aren’t going to give me the scholarship I need.” He’s not meeting her eyes anymore. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m excited for you,” he smiles, but she feels the distance inching them apart. The past month’s fantasy, their unspoken secret hope is cracking. Minutes later, when they leave the newspaper office, he doesn’t kiss her goodbye.

  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm a tease. but y'all know it's coming. 
> 
> thank you for reading! please please please please please leave me a comment if you are so able
> 
> also come find me on tumblr @iconic-ponytail !!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about how long this chapter took. In the two fics I have written, there are chapters I've started thinking about before even writing the fic, and this is that chapter. I've been writing it for over three months, obsessing about making it perfect, and then it turned out I just needed to have a real break from school for my whole brain to turn back on and write this monster. Thank you for your patience; I sincerely hope this chapter does this story justice. Also, it is 15k words because I can't plan well or control myself. Please enjoy :)

 

 

 

Betty can usually distance her mind from her body—and usually, it’s to her detriment. On a streak of stressful days, she’ll realize she hasn’t eaten, and her body never reminded her, strung out on anxiety and adrenaline. During her serving shifts she won’t feel the ache in her feet until she sits down (at Pop’s she could steal some of Jug’s fries, which he occasionally tolerated). Now her body won’t quiet down—she can feel every hair follicle on her arms, every nerve ending in her palms, every wave of heat radiating between their bodies, every thrum of her pulse.

 

The rain has abated some, now only pattering against the street, plinking against the window. Her body feels heavy with the emotional hangover of the day, the hours of trying to clean, to breathe, to cook. Of her speakerphone conversation with Dr. Leslie, who let her practice the conversation with Jug when her two o’clock cancelled. She’s dehydrated from the buzz of anxious energy and onslaught of tears. All of her aches for sleep, but her mind is whirring over the fact that _Jughead is in her bed, holding her hand_ , and the only thing that might shut up the loop of _this is happening, this is happening_ is rolling over and kissing him until she loses enough oxygen to pass out.

 

Of course, in light of everything else, this seems a little foolish. Not because Jughead would reject her advances— maybe because he wouldn’t, now that they’ve aired everything out, now that he’s toweled off in her bathroom and donned her clothes, now that she invited him into her bed because _really how else was that directing things to go?_

 

After the _last_ kiss, after the long drive back from the Hamptons and several bouts of tears, Betty had collapsed on the couch, her heart still torn open at the memory of them falling asleep together in the same spot, but she’d been too exhausted to shower off the day. Veronica found her there the next morning, brought her water and extra blankets.

 

Monday passed on the couch, a haze of naps and Netflix food shows on autoplay in the background, giving her subconscious something void of emotional investment, something to latch onto that wasn’t the softness of Jug’s mouth or the sadness in his eyes. The torn look on his face was a catalyst for memories her heart hurts to behold, like the night at Pop’s they ate pie; they never ate pie. It was lemon meringue. She had been working and it wasn’t slow enough for her to take a break, but she’d just been trying to hold onto him after the earth started to slip from under their feet.

 

But after a shower and Veronica ordering a pity feast from her favorite Thai restaurant, V got the whole story out of her. Betty could see the weekend’s events in a new light through the retelling: she’d given Jughead hope and then wrenched it away again. That had always been their pattern.

 

Kissing Jughead would be the final declaration that Betty wants to make but never wants to have to take back. She’s had to tear her love for him out of her heart before, stitch by stitch.

 

 _A rip in the universe_ , he’d said, and Betty feels it like a weight on her chest. She can still perfectly recall the first night in New York. Her phone silenced after the fourth unanswered call from her mother, no doubt about to plead for her to come home. The silk sheets on Veronica’s childhood four-poster canopy bed and her best friend’s hand in hers, much like Jug’s right now. Most of all, feeling emptiness in the wake of her fresh start. The hole in her future hope. The tears that slid from the corners of her eyes, soaking her hairline near the temple.

 

Clenching her jaw to shake the thought, Betty squeezes Jugheads hand, too, on reflex. He squeezes back so immediately that she doesn’t have time to panic. Instead, she remembers how she felt when he said, _I’m staying_.

 

Warmth pools in her chest. The places she was once wounded have healed. Or maybe, if they haven't, they can now. Finally.

 

Betty shifts a fraction closer to Jughead, turning onto her side. Sleep finds her quickly.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Sunlight flickers through the curtains, a gauzy blush fabric repurposed from Betty’s hand-made bridesmaid’s dress in Polly’s farm wedding ceremony. Betty thinks she’s still dreaming; she can feel her fingers trace Jughead’s hand, her arm covering his from elbow to fingertip. He is slung over her hip, pulling her into the crescent curve of his body. She even feels the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, making her hairs stand on end. She needs to turn her head to get the sunlight out of her eyes, but the thought of breaking the warmth of being wrapped up with Jughead on a sunny morning is too good to pass up.

 

Then, Betty turns her head, her eyes fluttering open when she senses his presence is certain, not a dream state. Jughead, her same Jug, is inches from her face, eyes wide, a mirror of delight and disbelief. Betty, for the longest second of her life, is frozen with shock and complete euphoria. _He’s right here._

 

_He’s always wanted us._

 

_What more do you need to know?_

 

Jughead opens his mouth, maybe to say something, maybe not, but Betty leans in and presses her lips to his, and this time, when she waits for him to break away, he doesn’t. Her body fills with the soft, golden kind of warmth that she feels on his lips as the movement builds from slow and precious to rapid, ravenous. His hand slides along her jaw, the sensory memory of that touch knocking Betty senseless.

 

Their hands are everywhere in seconds; hers cup his face, grab his hair, his neck and shoulder. Jughead’s arms pull her in and wrap around her back, holding her close and then laying her flat on her back before softly breaking away.

 

They look at each other for only the beat of a few breaths and Betty pulls him back, their lips meeting even more urgently, as if they could possibly fill the void, the debt of lost moments like this. With mindless urgency, her legs wrap around his torso and Jug pulls her upright, tangled against him. This time, it’s Betty who pulls away, wanting to look at him, to confirm this is real.

 

Betty traces his cheekbones, his jaw, heart stuttering and amazed that just like that, the light in her heart could turn on again.

 

“Betty…” Jughead breathes, his lips moving like velvet on her temple.

 

“This could never be nothing to me, Jug,” she murmurs, answering a question he’d asked days earlier. Betty pulls her college t-shirt up and off him from the hem and skims her fingers over Jughead’s chest, feeling his responding shudder down her own spine.

 

“Should we—” Jughead breathes.

 

“Talk?” Betty whispers back, eyes already drawn back to his mouth.

 

A knock on the door makes them both jump.

 

“Fuck,” Betty muffles her expletive into Jughead’s bare shoulder. He unsuccessfully stifles a smirk while catching her hands in his.

 

Veronica’s voice sing-songs through the door. “Good Morning! Your presence is requested at brunch. Toni and I will see you _both_ at the Penrose in 45 minutes. The table is under Lodge.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile that stretches across her face when she looks at Jughead, his hair sticking straight up and thumbs stroking her palms. She squeezes his fingers harder, not wanting him to feel any of the scar indents. They’ve thought enough about the past lately; she’s ready to think about the future.

 

“I think that means we should definitely talk,” she sighs.

 

“They’re going to grill us, huh?” he says, toying with a strand of her hair. Betty stares at his soft eyes, traces his moles, holds her breath. _Breathing is overrated_ , she thinks, kissing him softly before the footsteps pacing down the hallway bring her back.

 

“Ugh. God, shouldn’t I be the one grilling them? Why does Veronica always feel the need to date my _other_ best friend?”

 

Jughead says, amused, “Good point, but maybe don’t compare Toni to Archie. In front of either of them.”

 

Betty tries to get up but Jughead tugs her back again. “Betts, what are we going to tell them?”

 

For the first time since waking, Betty feels a twinge of panic. She wants to name what this is, who he is to her, so desperately. The last time they had even come close, the universe tore them apart so swiftly that Betty has considered if her heart was wrong. That Jughead wasn’t supposed to be hers.

 

Seeming to read her face, Jughead pulls her close and kisses her forehead. “It’s okay, Betts. We don’t have to deliver a five year plan or anything.”

 

Betty’s heartbeat feels erratic—after all, she knows, deep down, exactly what’s in the five year plan. And the ten year plan. The as-long-as-you’ll-have-me plan. _I love you, Jughead Jones._

 

She made the final decision a long time ago. But she’s gotten ahead of herself before.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Even though they’ve just agreed to talk, they can’t seem to do much except grin at one another like idiots. Betty lends gives him a new toothbrush to use, overwhelmed at the mere thought of their toothbrushes in a holder together in oral hygiene domestic bliss.

 

“You’re a paste-then-water person, huh?” he comments.

 

“Literally how else would you do it? Water _then_ toothpaste? Are you psychotic?” Betty protests, muffled by paste and brush.

 

Jughead responds by flicking some water at her face from his damp fingers. Betty can’t laugh without spraying him and the rest of the bathroom with a mouthful of sudzy blue flouride, but her heart is so full she could burst.

  
  
  
  
  


 

They decide to walk to brunch. Their hands graze when he holds open the front door and like magnets, Jughead twines his fingers through hers. Betty feels drunk on the feeling of their hands fused, of the dappled sunlight down the tree-lined street. They only make it one block before Jughead pulls her into his chest and cups her face with his hands. The grin plastered across his face makes her press into him even more, shamelessly in love on the narrow sidewalks of Manhattan. Jughead kisses her forehead, then both her cheeks in turn.

 

“Juggie.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“We’re running late,” Betty protests, though her tone is hardly insistent.

 

“I have a lot of time to make up for, Betts.”

 

It crosses Betty’s mind that they shouldn’t be in public. Public is for people who have declared their deep, abiding and time-traveling love. People who have torn each others clothes off and overcome at least a fraction of the addiction to touch.

 

They are not these people, not yet, and she cannot help the fact that their walk takes twice the time it should for the three separate times Jughead murmurs that he must be dreaming and Betty has to kiss him into belief. She can no longer understand how she has been in the same room for him for weeks without doing this. The 72 hours of self-hatred over Labor Day weekend evaporate with every breath between their lips. If nothing else, Labor Day was a case study in self-restraint.

 

Not until they are standing at the door of the restaurant does reality hit.

 

“What are we going to tell Veronica?” Betty twists away from him and his goddamn rogue curl, reaching to catch it softly in her fingers. “Maybe some classic good cop, bad cop? You give vague but appeasing answers and I drill her about Toni?”

 

Jughead pouts, teasing. “How come you get to be bad cop?”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Veronica spots them the moment they enter and practically bites off the host’s head to get his attention. As Veronica flails her arms like an air traffic controller, Betty catches Jughead’s look of panic and mouths, _good cop,_ so he morphs the grimace into a stilted smile.

 

“Finally,” Veronica sighs, “I was beginning to wonder if you two could even hear me over _whatever_ was going on this morning…” she trails off, taking a long sip of her mimosa to leave room for an explanation.

 

“That’s interesting,” Jughead responds, not unkindly, “We could hardly hear ourselves think most of the night after stumbling upon you two in the living room.”

 

Betty glances to Toni, who seems fascinated with the decor on the wall behind them, tipping her drink back further and further until she drains it.

 

“Just to be clear, I thought you were at work, Betty,” Toni adds.

 

Veronica clucks her tongue, trying to regain peace and composure at the table. Betty takes a deep breath, attempting to do the same.

 

“This begs my first question, V,” Betty starts. “How long has this been going on? Is it serious? Were you going to tell me?”

 

Toni and Veronica both open their mouths to respond when a waiter interrupts them. Jughead proceeds to order two entrees for himself, raising his eyebrows at Veronica in a challenge that Betty reads as _you’re paying, right?_

 

So much for Jughead playing good cop.

 

Once the waiter leaves, Toni jumps in, cutting Veronica off with a gentle hand on her forearm. The gentleness between them is foreign to Betty, who can recall the tension of the pair fighting over all of the most insignificant possible divergences in opinion, like where to go for drunk pizza, or whether Betty should wear a green dress or a blue dress on her first date with Trev. (She wore yellow, even though it was the lesser of all three, just so neither or them could win).

 

They’d been thrown together for years without a hint of magic or spark, unless it was curses or heat thrown at each other. The logic didn’t add up, but the way Toni touches Veronica’s arm cuts deep for Betty. The tenderness, new or old, is real.

 

“This might sound kind of weird to you, most of all, but…” Toni trails off, hesitating, her eyes darting to Jughead. “We’ve both thought about it for a long time. We just didn’t want to commit until it felt certain because we didn’t want it to be weird for you, Betty.”

 

Toni smiles, reassuring, but Veronica bites her lip apprehensively. “We only decided over Labor Day, so I thought it would be best to wait. Or, well, _align_ the timing.”

 

Betty catches Veronica’s eyes flicking over to Jughead, who drinks deeply from his coffee mug and avoids eye contact. Betty’s stomach turns at the idea that Jughead knew. _Not exactly_ , he’d said. She takes a sip of her mimosa, too, trying not to let the taste of their morning sour on her tongue. Just like the housewarming party, she knows this Veronica, well-intentioned, yet always reaching just far enough that Betty can’t tell where the orchestrations end and her own decisions begin. She tries to remember what Veronica might have suggested during their Thai food debrief, but it also doesn’t really matter—there’s nothing to take back. Still, it slows her mind down a little, realizing the urge to ‘talk’ with Jug is more than a formality.

 

Toni starts to steer the conversation somewhere else, but Veronica interrupts this time, offering Toni a soft smile of gratitude for the attempt. “I know you both operate on a stricter privacy policy than the CIA, but we,” Veronica pauses for emphasis and Toni fills in with a nod, “just want to be supportive.”

 

Jughead turns to Betty, his eyes soft, and reaches for her hand subtly under the table. “We’re talking about it.” Betty nods, slipping into the same smile and a resurgence of heart palpitations.

 

“Oh my god, _swoon,_ you two!” Veronica cooes. Betty is flushing, but she just grips Jughead’s hand harder. “Not to press but—”

 

“All plot developments are strictly PG-13, V. Can we talk about something else, now?” Betty pleads as Veronica’s eyebrows shoot halfway up her forehead. Toni takes her cue to turn on some small talk about what everyone has going on for the upcoming weekend. Thankfully, their food arrives, and Jughead reluctantly relinquishes Betty’s hand in favor of his multiple entrees.

 

Perhaps as a subtle punishment, Veronica waits until Jughead takes an enormous bite of his combination burger/eggs benedict before asking, “Are you still writing, Jughead?”

 

Between bites, Jughead mumbles, “Um, yeah. I actually have an interview… tomorrow. Just a small, online platform, but it would be a good place to start.”

 

Betty’s fork clinks loudly against her plate. He hadn’t told her about this, though their job searches hadn’t been the most pressing thing on her mind for the past few days. “What? Really? What’s it called?”

 

He’s blushing, and Betty’s so excited for him that she could burst, though simultaneously annoyed that he hadn’t mentioned it already.

 

Veronica’s eyes flit back and forth between them. “Wow. It sure seems like you two have been doing a lot of _talking.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  


Veronica and Toni leave them in front of the restaurant, promising no more exhibitionist run-ins in the living room. Betty feels relieved that Toni seems genuinely happy for both herself and for Betty; she even hugs Jughead goodbye, and Betty notes the air of surprise in Jug’s eyes. Veronica whispers something in his ear that makes him roll his eyes and blush.

 

They turn the opposite direction, walking in silent agreement towards the train, their steps slow and fingers finding each other’s again.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this interview, that’s amazing, Jug.”

 

He shrugs, but his smile shows that he’s pleased. “It’s just an interview. It just happened, really.”

 

“Still,” she emphasizes, lifting his hand to her mouth and pressing his knuckles to her mouth. She has a flash of recollection to the night he tucked her into bed. He must too, because his eyes flash, pupils dilated, and the next thing she knows, her back is pressed against brick and his mouth is on hers. She’s never done this kind of thing in public, far too self-conscious, but right now her brain isn’t functioning beyond the way he touches her, the compounded memories of all the times they’ve kissed like this. She’s forgotten that her body can burn and ache like this.

 

When they break apart, she hears herself murmuring, “I’m not sure how well we are doing at talking about this.”

 

Jughead’s mouth crooks into a devious smile. “We’re doing really well at everything else.”

 

Betty can’t help but smile back. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe we need to stop kissing until we can have a conversation.”

 

Jughead considers this, his eyes narrowing skeptically, almost evaluating whether he thinks she’s up for that challenge. “Okay then. Let’s talk. What are we talking about?” He tugs her along, their fingers still entwined.

 

Betty’s head is still spinning from their last kiss, from the roguish expression of Jughead’s features. It’s hard to track her own thoughts back.

 

“I mean, not _now_ , I need to like, collect some thoughts.”

 

Jughead’s eyebrows betray a flicker of concern, and her hand moves to his face for reassurance. “I’m happy, Jug. Really happy. But I think we need to put it all out there, you know?”

 

Jughead nods slowly. They’re coming up on the subway; she doesn’t want to leave him, but now she thinks she needs to, before they try to discuss something they aren’t ready to. His silence sets her nerves on edge, eager and terrified all at once, trying to read what he could be thinking. They reach the stairs before he stops, turning to her, gripping her hand even harder.

 

“If I’m gonna put it all out there,” his voice trembles just enough for Betty to detect it, his eyes earnest in a way that feels all too familiar. “You need to know that I love you, Betty Cooper.”  

 

Her heart might stop. The ground might drop out from under her. Her lips fumbles for words they can’t find, but he keeps going.

 

“I tried to tell you years ago but I didn’t want to make it worse. I thought that if I did, that if you said it back, I wouldn’t let myself leave.”

 

No, _she_ wouldn’t have let him leave. That was her one seed of doubt, of fear that sprouted after he murmured _take care_ into her hair and she heard what he meant, heard what he wanted to say, but something made her unable to believe it. She had loved him; she did love him, but she couldn’t have made the same choice, not even for her own father. She loved him because he was nobler than her in that way; family was her prison more often than her safe place, but he was determined to find the eye of the Jones hurricane, whatever it took.

 

“Betty?”

 

She’s looking down, still breathless, heart beating in her throat, the words she’s looking for trapped under the weight of a single memory, so she breaks her word and closes the distance between them, kissing him like it will tell him what she feels, the longing she’s never been able to quell. He responds like he might just know.

 

A minute passes, or maybe five, and she hears the rumble of the train arriving and pulls away.

 

“That’s your train.” It’s breathy, a statement and a question.

 

He strokes her cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling in her favorite way—small, soft, only for her.

 

“There will be more trains, Betty.” And so there are. Three, in fact, before they manage to separate, a final kiss planted on her forehead. She touches the spot four separate times on the walk home.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Taking the steps to the apartment, Betty has to stop and rest. Blood courses through her head like the bass notes thumping through a speaker. The rush of overstimulated brain chemicals has made her dizzy with happiness, unable to think at all. It’s either so simple and she’s making it complicated, or perhaps it is deeply complicated, but somehow it feels shockingly simple: He loves her. She loves him. Was that the missing piece?

 

Betty flops onto her bed, still disheveled, still holding the imprints of their sleeping bodies.There are four hours until she needs to leave for work, where he will be again, where she needs to know what exactly to put on the table, the love and the fear.

 

It’s always easier when he’s in front of her; that’s why when he moved to Toledo she’d gone so empty. Not because any one person can fix you or bear the mantle of your happiness or any bullshit like that, but because he made the choice simple. If she’s with him, she will choose him every time. After Veronica and Archie broke up, she went to him because he was the only thing that could fill up all the little cracks in her mind where doubt and fear leak in.

 

Three hours and forty-five minutes. Her bedroom needs a deep clean and organize. Her mom’s unanswered calls need to be placated with a variation on “been busy, we’ll catch up soon.” Her job applications need to be followed up on, and her blood pressure spikes at the thought. Especially knowing that Jughead has an actual interview—something she hasn’t managed to get more than three. It’s not jealousy; she’s genuinely happy for him—plus, it seems like a role for a more narrative writing style, which fits him much more than it would her. What bothers her is not his happiness, but the realization that she’s not sure any of the positions she applied for would really make her _happy_. Not like this morning, not like Jug himself, but she wants her work to make her head rush, her heart beat.

 

Betty starts with the laundry, tries to slow down her thoughts with methodical sorting, _mindfulness,_ though usually when she tries any of Dr. Leslie’s mindfulness practices, it just feels like _forcefulness_ . Somehow it gets her down to the three hour mark. She tries to take an extra long shower, which leads to _other_ thoughts of Jughead, both calming and exciting in equal measure.

 

By the time her hair has dried, her sheets changed, a set of both pretty but practical lingerie on in case their conversation goes well, she still has an hour and a half until it’s time to leave. Digging through her closet, she finds the blue sundress with orange flowers that Veronica wanted her to wear on her first date with Trev.

 

It’s not until she decides to curl her hair, waiting for the iron to warm, that her mind wanders to the words she couldn’t say back to Jughead even when she wanted to.

 

They loved each other. But if love hadn’t been enough for them last time, what made it sacred now? Love was never a guarantee: her parents had supposedly loved each other. Archie and Veronica had loved each other. But, she supposes that she and Jughead had more than enough opportunities to stop: Toledo, the Serpents, college, Jug’s dad. Maybe the choice mattered most of all.

 

And Jughead had made that choice, too. By coming back to Riverdale, by bargaining with Penny, by picking up and moving to New York with nothing to go on except the vague idea that they might be friends again. _I’m staying_ , he’d said.

 

A monologue starts to form, and Betty spends the next hour and a half mentally scripting, editing, working herself to tears a few times as she fluffs out her curls and buttons up her dress.

 

Walking into the restaurant, she sees him immediately and her heart skips a few extra beats than usual for his freshly washed hair and suspenders. He meets her stare with an equally brilliant smile that Fangs must detect from across the bar because he flashes Betty a _look._

 

Betty clocks in and Fangs teases over her shoulder, “ _What_ was that eye-fuck I just witnessed?”

 

She hits him with, “Let’s just say I did something about it,” before gliding off to the server stand.

 

It’s a busy Thursday night; the first few warm weeks of September have everyone savoring the last hurrah of patio weather and open window dining. But her shift passes quickly, somehow, and Betty savors every bar order she delivers. Jughead’s eyes on her every time she comes and goes make her feel exposed, like every guest can tell they can barely hold themselves together.

 

She brings an order for a table of five, and she notices his gaze fixated on her collar bones. It makes her shudder involuntarily and she hopes to god that Fangs didn’t catch it.

 

“So where are we going after work?”

 

Betty tries to look nonchalant, but her stomach flips. “Oh my, a late night date. What are your goals, Mr. Jones?”

 

“Well, talking. I think we talked about… talking.”

 

“Yes,” Betty starts loading her tray with drinks. “Talking,” She winks and glides back towards her table.

  
  
  
  


 

 

They decide on a bar in Brooklyn, near Jughead’s place, which doesn’t feel presumptuous unless Betty overthinks it, so she doesn’t. She focuses on other things as they ride the train over the river: twisting her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, which is getting a little too long (but just right). Re-cataloguing the details that have emerged in the last four years—or the ones she delightfully forgot, like the pattern of moles on the side of his face. She remembers tracing them with her finger for the first time when Jughead fell asleep on Archie’s couch during one of Archie’s movie picks. They were freshmen in high school. Betty wonders what they will look like, decades from now. If she will still connect the dots with her finger while he sleeps.

 

Betty knows they must look like every couple she’s ever side-eyed on the train, but she’s too distracted by the way Jughead traces the pattern of the flowers on her skirt so every hair on her leg stands up. She’s not thinking beyond their little bubble as he uses their oldest trick, murmuring fake newspaper headlines in her ear that make her giggle.

 

It’s a decent walk from the stop, but the cooler night air helps Betty clear her mind and focus on the reason she isn’t already giving into the heat building between them with every glance, every soft curl of Jughead’s mouth when she notices him staring at her. It feels a little stupid to be so stubborn, but everything is happening so quickly, she knows she needs to let her mind catch up to her heart.

 

The bar that Jughead leads them too is surprisingly quiet and cozy, with old green paint on the walls and dark wood accents, and they find a booth in the corner. Jughead brings a couple beers to their table. Betty fixates on the label, working her thumbnail underneath the corner.

 

“I’ve been thinking since this morning,” Jug starts, “I know I said all that at the train, but I’m not in a rush to hear you say…” He trails off, swallowing something that looks painful, even if his voice is calm and even. “I understand why you don’t trust me. When I left, it hurt you to get blindsided, and I don’t know what that felt like. It was horrible, but it was my choice between two horrible things.”

 

Betty stops peeling and meets his eyes, where he’s trying to hide the pain she might inflict with the truth. She doesn’t want to do this. She wants to swallow the lump in her throat, slip into the seat next to him and make out in the dimly lit bar.

 

But she’ll still wake up with the same questions in the morning, so she sets the bottle to the side and takes a deep breath that Dr. Leslie would be proud of.

 

“I was supposed to give a speech, you know. For graduation. Valedictorian and all of that.” Betty hears her voice already shaking, but pushes on. “I had been taking a lot of my meds that week, coming home from school midday. Veronica and Archie were checking on me, my mom was being extra manic and scary, suggesting that I take a year off from school, which made things even worse, of course. That’s when V started planning for us to move here as soon as possible. I thought that because my sister had just started coming by, talking to my mom again, she might try to drag me back to Riverdale.”

 

Betty closes her eyes, trying to bring herself back to Dr. Leslie’s office just days earlier to find the words. “It’s hard to remember that week. I was trying to tell my therapist about it on Friday. I remember the morning of graduation clearly; I didn’t take a Xanax even though it was kind of the only way I’d been functioning for days. I thought it would help me give my speech, or feel more present or something.” She can see the orange bottle in her hand, setting it back in the medicine cabinet.

 

“Everyone was lined up for the procession, but I stayed backstage. There was a placeholder chair for me since I would be speaking. Principal Weatherbee came to usher the stragglers out and get in line, so I was alone in the classroom. The last thing I remember is looking up at the rack of robes, and there was one left on the rack. Extra tall.”

 

Betty realizes that she had reached for the bottle at some point; her hand was already sore from the pressure of her grip. She lets go and meets Jughead’s eyes again, knowing that his mouth will be twisted and brow furrowed. Knowing that his expression will break and soothe her at the same time.

 

Her voice grows more fervent when she looks at him. “Juggie, I _do_ trust you. You decided to come back to me with literally zero guarantees that this would work. Who does that?”

 

They let the question hang rhetorically between them. Betty’s heart is pounding for what comes next. She reaches for the bottle as something to hold between her fingers and her palm, but Jughead takes her hand from across the table and holds it the way he used to—a buffer, an anchor.

 

“I’m afraid of what could happen now because I loved and trusted you even after you left. Love was never safe for us, you know? Knowing I still love you so, so stupidly much—” Jughead grips her hand as her voice trembles.

 

“I love you, too, Betty,” he whispers, like he couldn’t hold it in.

 

“I know.” A tear surprises Betty as she blinks, and she lets it flow down her cheek to her jawline. “What I’m trying to say is that despite all of it, I will always choose you, Jug. And I trust you, because I believe that you will always choose me.”

 

“Yes, of course I will. I mean, I know… I haven’t always.” He swallows hard a few times. “You’re the only plan I’ve ever had, Betty.”

 

Her heart feels like it’s falling off a cliff, she wants to kiss him so badly and the table is so inconveniently in the way. “Okay, then. We’re doing this.”

 

Jughead’s responding smile is the slowest, sweetest thing she’s ever seen. “We’re doing this.”

  
  
  
  


 

 

Jughead and Joaquin’s apartment is only two blocks away, which Betty wishes she’d known earlier, when she’d been willing to unbutton the top of her dress slightly so that Jughead could touch her against the brick wall.

 

Jughead turns the key in the lock and Betty thinks she’s going crazy with want, thinking about the roughness of his voice, the string of ‘I love you’s’, his thumbs grazing her nipple as her back arched into him—before he suggested they make the five minute trek to his bedroom.

 

“So, it’s um, fucking tiny, but it’s fine and I don’t think Joaquin is here at least so you—”  

 

Betty brings a finger up to his lips.  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she murmurs. She hooks his suspenders through her index fingers and pulls him through the door of his bedroom.

 

Jughead almost forgets to shut the door.

  
  
  
  


 

* * *

  

 

**_May, Senior Year_ **

 

 

A few weeks after the admission letters arrive, Jughead slumps in his booth at Pop’s, emanating such a caustic aura of self-pity that Betty hasn’t come over to fill up his coffee. Not that he wants her to—they’ve been doing an awkward dance all week of avoiding any conversation that would define their relationship or reckon with the college decision limbo he’s in. They’re back to the careful routines they employed before they started kissing at every discrete opportunity.

 

Jughead knows that’s part of his bad mood; every night he passes out aching with Betty withdrawals. He wakes up with the memory of her taste in his mouth and swears he’s going to do something about it, even though it’s not a good idea. Perhaps it was never a good idea. If there is a God, they don’t seem to endorse the fact that he’s out-of-his-mind in love with Betty.

 

After school on Monday, his acceptance from Fordham arrives like a carrot dangled on the string before him before the hard kick of reality; his financial scholarship is nowhere near enough. He even considers burning the letter, afraid that somehow Penny would get ahold of it and try to rope him into more debt; _Wanna go to college, Jonesy? We can make that happen. Come work for me again. You know the drill._

 

Somehow, he’s still at Pop’s, even though he knew Betty would be working, even though he knew that being here was an exercise in masochism. Of course she deserves to go to her dream school. The relief in her every expression, the extra swish of her ponytail, the perkiness in her _what can I get for you?_ makes Jughead’s eyes go soft at the same time that his jaw clenches. All he wants is to get out, but even more than that, he wants to get out of Riverdale with Betty in the passenger seat. He wants _their_ dream.

 

The germ of the idea blooms in the corner of his brain: he’ll move to New York, too, regardless. He’ll work some absurd job. Take community college classes. Get in next year. Use all her old textbooks.

 

Of course, he doesn’t know that Betty will want this, will support it. There is a lot of ground to define before Jughead can pitch running away together, a lot of variables to define. His dad. Their feelings. Money. But he knows one thing for certain; Riverdale has only been his home so long as Betty is there, kissing him on the old trailer couch. Secretly hooking her fingers in his under the lunch table. Slipping him a ‘mistake’ milkshake with a wink.

 

He’s let himself go slack jawed, puppy dog-eyed thinking about her when the front door swings open and draws his attention from his favorite blonde to decidedly his least. Penny locks in on him, and his entire stomach drops out.

 

“My, my, just the Jones I was hoping to find. Heard all the shiny Northside kids were getting their college letters. Hoped you’d have some gossip on the big shockers and massive disappointments… though we both know which camp you fall into.”

 

Jughead swallows his _fuck off_ retort and just shrugs. “Not sure what about that is your business.”

 

“Ahh, you see, Jonesy, that’s _exactly_ what it is. My _business._ The _enterprise_ which keeps me in cash. I need people. So, if you’re still going to be kicking around Riverdale, free of…” Penny trails off meaningfully, looking over in Betty’s direction and Jughead stifles the urge to take his fork to Penny’s jugular for even insinuating threat towards Betty. The only real protection he can offer her is the illusion of indifference—one that Penny clearly isn’t buying anyway.

 

Jughead practically growls, “Look elsewhere, Peabody. I’m out.”  

 

Penny stares him down, unimpressed. He knows this is how she got Joaquin; just one more little loan. Just an extra month, for a bonus. Jughead isn’t biting.

 

Betty appears at the table, coffee pot in hand and Jughead wants to shake her. He told her how much he hates the way Penny looks at her, like a toy, like collateral.

 

“Hello, can I get you anything?” Betty sing-songs, and only because Jughead knows every pitch of Betty’s voice can he tell that her tone is all acid under the sugar.

 

“Nah, Barbie, I’m good,” Penny snarls.

 

“Well, customers only, I’m afraid. Unless you’re with Jughead here,” Betty’s facade slips by an inch.

 

Penny and Jughead simultaneously reply a mishmash of, “I am” and “She’s not.” Penny takes a breath, holds it, and gives him a nod on her way out. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes drag back to Betty before the jingle sounds with the door slam.

 

Betty silently refills his mug with an eye on the parking lot. “Can I bring you anything else?” Her whisper is tender, the words are still for show, but her tone is all for him again. He wants to loop his arm around her waist and pull her onto his lap, to crush his lips against hers until neither of them can breathe. He wants to leave tonight, to hurtle into the unknown with this one person who could ground him..

 

Instead, Jughead says nothing, looking down at his cup,  freshly reminded that he and Betty are on different trajectories. For the best month of his life, their paths had come so close, like the asymptotes Betty insisted they study the night before the decisions arrived. The night Alice and Hal drove to marriage counseling in Centreville while he and Betty tossed aside limits of trig functions to test the limit of how much of each others’ clothing they could remove. He tries to untangle his train of thought from the memory of their entwined limbs, the dawning realization that not _right now_ but _actually soon_ he might lose his virginity to Betty Cooper.

 

In the present, Betty starts to leave, dissuaded once again by his coldness. His whole body is flushed, his heart pounds, and he can’t stand her walking away.

 

“Betty, wait. Don’t you… have a break or something?

 

Her face flickers with hope. “Hold on.” She takes her apron off and rummages behind the counter for two plates and dishes up two slices of pie piled high with bronzed meringue.

 

She sits down across from him and hands him one of the slices. The sweet and sour pulls almost painfully on his tastebuds, somehow tasting exactly how he feels.

 

A few bites in, Betty asks, “Are you ready to tell me about your mental spiral or what?”

 

Jughead slumps, inhaling another enormous bite so he has something to excuse an extra few seconds to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry. This is such shit and you don’t deserve it, Betts—”

 

Her green eyes flash with ferocity. “Don’t do that. You don’t deserve it either. You’re going to get in, Juggie.” She glances out the window again and continues, more softly. “Just don’t…”

 

Betty trails off, swallowing whatever she was going to finish the sentence with, and Jughead lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

 

Betty drums her fingers on the table, loading what she’s about to say. Jughead isn’t sure he can handle waiting for the response and opens his mouth to intercede before she can. “I mean, I just think for now, you know, it might be best. So it isn’t worse… later.”

 

“Oh.” Betty’s voice sounds like it’s crumbling, and Jughead thinks maybe his heart follows in tandem. _Fuck._ He stutters something wordless, unsure how to walk himself back, how to fix the hurt flinching across her face. _Or maybe this hurt is better than the eventual. The inevitable._

 

Their goodbyes are polite; he settles his tab, Betty returns to her rounds, her smile closer to a grimace, miles from meeting her eyes.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Contrary to the assumptions of most of his classmates, Jughead has always enjoyed school, despite his haphazard in-class participation outside of English class. For most of his life, school was a haven from the eggshells he walked on at home. School was always clean, fed him, supplied people who acknowledged him.

 

But the week after Penny shows up at the diner, Jughead struggles to make it through a full school day. The constant buzz of _where are you going?_ and _god I can’t wait to get out of here in just a few more weeks!_ makes him crack his knuckles to channel excess aggression. On Wednesday, he leaves after gym, fifth period, and sends an apologetic text to Betty about missing their pitch meeting.

 

All his friends tiptoe around his fragility. Betty mentions nothing in the Blue and Gold Office the next morning, where he’s started showing up again, trying to drum up the enthusiasm for the Senior Week edition and suffering through Betty’s indignant brush off of Weatherbee’s request for a series of senior profiles.

 

“I told Weatherbee we should hold off, a lot of people are still undecided, and there’s just no need to put the pressure on, I mean, this is supposed to be a _fun_ time of year.”

 

Jughead tries to agree, but it’s hard enough to look at Betty these past few days, much less jump into college decision discourse. All his words get strangled at the base of his throat.

 

Betty keeps going, filling the awkward tension with more words. “Of course, that means we have page space to fill in like, a day, and unfortunately that means I need to do an interview with the prom committee.”

 

Jughead bristles thinking about prom, and even more thinking about how Betty would have to dash around at the last minute because he hadn’t shown up after school yesterday. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here—”

 

Betty waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, I know you have more than enough on your mind.”

 

“Don’t worry about my mind. I’ll help,” he presses, knowing his insistent and bothered tone is probably more stressful than his apathy.

 

They’re both trying so desperately to be normal, not to be too emotional, not to step on the other’s feelings. Betty swings to accommodate his attitude.

 

“I would actually really appreciate some more filler. Maybe an underclassmen story? Or a teacher of the year profile? Or—”

 

“I’ll figure it out,” he cuts her off again, scrambling for his things.

 

“See you at lunch!” Betty chirps, and they both flash each other half-assed smiles.

  
  
  
  
  


 

At lunch, Jughead eats two portions of ravioli, a slice of pizza, and offerings from Betty and Veronica while they debate the merits of letting Archie sit at their table again. He’d been unilaterally banned for many months after the breakup, for a necessary cooling off period, but end-of-the-year sentiment seems to have B & V gripped with guilt.

 

Jughead would gladly welcome Archie back, and the conversation serves as some inspiration for him to shift across the classroom from Betty to Archie during physics. If she eyes him, he doesn’t notice; he greets Archie with a “How’s it going?”

 

“It’s all wrapping up, you know?” Archie muses. Jughead cracks his knuckles again, wanting to cut him off before Archie slips fully into Senior Discourse.

 

“I’m pretty sure I could stop showing up to school and no one would try to take my diploma away.” Jughead knows he’s grumbling and realizes with a jolt of annoyance that Archie will prod him, remind him that he definitely needs to keep his attendance and work ethic up while the waitlist is in effect.

 

Or maybe that’s what Betty would do, which is why it’s been hard for him to be around her. Because she’s right. Because it’s hard to live in limbo when someone is hoping just as much or more than you are that everything will turn out okay.

 

Archie scrunches his face into its classic puppy-dog furrow. “Didn’t Principal Weathbee just say we need like, almost perfect attendance in order to go to prom?”

 

Jughead stifles a snort. Of course Archie is thinking about prom, not his entire future. “I don’t think I’m doing that anyway.”

 

Archie huffs a sigh. “Tell me about it. Time is running out and I have no idea who I’d ask.”

 

Jughead glances over to Veronica, sitting kitty corner to Archie’s seat, resisting the bait from their conversation, though he would bet that she’s hanging onto every word.

 

Archie continues, lowering his voice enough that it won’t carry across the room. “I mean, my only thought is asking Betty.”

 

Jughead’s senses practically shut down; his eyes go blurry for a moment. “What?”

 

Archie recoils at the sharpness in Jughead’s tone. “As friends, you know? I just figured that neither of us really have options, so, it could be a win-win. I saw her looking at dresses online with Ethel a few weeks ago and I just felt sad because she probably didn’t have anyone to—”

 

Veronica has popped her head up, her eyes locked on Jughead, who feels like he might pass out. He’s white-knuckling his pencil, imagining it’s Archie’s neck, imagining it’s a muzzle around his own burgeoning scream.

 

“Archie.” Veronica’s voice is bold, but gentle. “I think Betty… has plans.”

 

Jughead grips the desk trying to hide the tremor in his hands. Does Betty have other plans? Did someone else ask her? He would know, right? Was Veronica talking about _him_?

 

“Aww, really?” Archie pouts and Jughead resists the urge to grab Archie by the lapels of his letterman jacket and jostle him into a hint of awareness.

 

Veronica flits her eyes back to Jughead for a second, but he understands. _She knows_. Maybe Betty told her; maybe it’s a sixth sense for Veronica to recognize relationships in triage, but either way, Jughead realizes that he can breathe again. No one else, but especially not Archie, is taking Betty to prom.

 

“We’ll figure something out for you, Archibald,” Veronica cooes. “I’m on the case.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Veronica tracks Jughead down after school, within twenty feet of the Blue and Gold. He’s dragging his feet, not wanting to let Betty down with his lack of initiative lately, but also feeling extra sensitive, worried he’ll do or say something stupid.

 

Veronica’s presence is strangely soothing, and he remembers the last time they talked about Betty and a school dance in the same place, but a different life, where the risks felt so much less consequential.

 

She wastes no time cutting to the chase. “I’m ready to offer my services, but I need you to give me everything and spare no dirty detail.”

 

Jughead knows he should have expected this after the exchange in physics, but he should have bolstered his defenses for a Veronica Lodge grade confrontation. “Can we maybe talk somewhere else?”

 

Veronica prods him in the direction of the student lounge, which is filled with enough people to achieve a hum of conversation as cover. Jughead wrestles with whether or not to come out and say it all, but once more, Veronica pierces to the heart of the matter.

 

“I’m not gonna lie, I had some strong suspicions. You two were practically eye-fucking in front of me for weeks at the lunch table, but I know you and Betty have never had a smooth go of it and you both seemed happy, so I tried to stay out of it.”

 

He feels a flood of warmth for Veronica; her meddling and the absence of it felt like the highest degree of her love for Betty, for him even. Jughead lets his guard crumble.

 

“I fucked everything up.”

 

She nods and waits, not unsympathetically, for him to continue.

 

Jughead lets it rush out, the weight he hasn’t let fall on anyone. “We kept it a secret because Penny, the Serpent woman I was dealing for last summer is still hanging on me, like she’s waiting for anything to sink her fangs into and I thought we could wait it out until the fall and… then I didn’t get in.”

 

“So somehow a small-town criminal and getting waitlisted at a prestigious institution is you fucking up? Jughead, what about this actually seems within your control?” Veronica needles.

 

She’s trying to poke holes in his bullshit, but he still wants to scream like a pre-teen at his parents. _You don’t get it._

 

“I was supposed to take Betty to prom at least. I wanted to do this right, you know? Even if we don’t end up in the same place, I wanted to have time. I wanted us to have the summer. To decide what we want to do with plenty of time left in the same place, and then I freaked out and I ended things and now she’s sad and trying to hide it around me.”

 

Veronica frowns, her eyes intent with concern that makes him want to simultaneously bolt out of the room and stay to dissect every moment of communication between him and Betty over the past few weeks. He likes to think he’s immune to Veronica’s influence, but he can’t help that his usual confidant, Archie, is about as emotionally nuanced as a low-budget action film.

 

“Jug, do you think you’re being a little hyperbolic?”

 

His face falls into his hands. He responds, muffled, “Clearly not, or we wouldn’t be here.”

 

“There isn’t much to be done with Penny, right? She doesn’t actually have anything to hold over your head, right? Your dad’s been in recovery and doing well.”

 

Jughead decides there is no use in getting into the gritty details of Joaquin’s debts, though he supposes the sooner Joaquin can get out of town, the sooner he can turn completely from Penny’s desperate advances. It’s a worthwhile thought.

 

Veronica must sense the abatement of his angst because she presses further. “And I think you need to chill out about college. There is still plenty of time, and beyond that, there are plenty of options. Long -distance relationships are decidedly unglamorous but—” She cuts off as Reggie Mantle pauses to appraise their unusually close conference.

 

Jughead takes the ensuing Lodge-Mantle staredown as an opportunity to consider Veronica’s words more slowly. His half-baked plan from the other night at Pop’s, to get to New York together no matter the outcome of a college admissions department buzzes with renewed energy. Like Veronica said; his dad is doing well. Maybe FP could get a new job in the suburbs when he’s more stable and Jug could still keep an eye out without having to worry about Penny Peabody.

 

Most of all, he can already envision Betty in a prom dress, Betty taking his arm in their blue graduation robes, trimmed with golden valedictorian cords, Betty in summer sundresses riding shotgun in the truck. Betty driving away with him, their belongings strapped down in the back. He twitches with intention towards the door, toward the newspaper office where Betty is waiting, where Jughead knows he’s an apology away from this vision of the future.

 

Again, Veronica sniffs out his shifting mood and turns away from the quizzical gaze of the jock brigade. “Not so fast, Pony Boy. You need to make a statement. Nothing truly embarrassing, of course. Something that makes her know you’re all in. I did do a little research on low key prom-posals—”

 

“If you say ‘prom-posal’ again I’m out,” he scoffs, and Veronica’s plotting grin only widens. “Besides, I’m late for our Blue and Gold staff meeting and I’ve already completely slacked for the third week in a row.”

 

Veronica dismisses him reluctantly, promising to follow up.

 

The thought of a creative apology jogs his memory to the last time he’d had to apologize. Gliding into the newspaper office, he’s feeling self assured as he interrupts Betty’s inquiry about where he’s been.

 

“I’m sorry I’ve sucked as a co-editor lately. I owe you doing all the final layout edits for the rest of the year at least.”

 

Betty seems surprised, maybe even concerned by his intense insistence. “Oh, Jug, that’s not necessary. I know you’ve—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, but shirking my responsibilities and being a jerk to my best friend isn’t going to make me more palatable to an admissions committee, is it?”

 

Betty’s smile curls slowly, uncertain but unstoppable. “No, I suppose not.”

 

“Alright, then let me take the worst job, at least.”

 

“You know I actually like layout editing.”

 

“Not as much as eviscerating my drafts, which reminds me—” He digs for two pieces he wrote in a hurry during study hall under the influence of her puppy eyes only just that morning.

 

“Oh, this is… great!” She looks genuinely cheered, though he doesn’t know if it’s from the workload off her plate or that he’s actually writing and contributing again, but he supposes he’ll take either.

 

He opens the newspaper formatting software and starts staging a version for Betty to approve before he can get her out of here. He shoots a quick text to Veronica, giving them half an hour, which seems reasonable the way Betty reads his articles, slashing with her read pen every sentence or two, the dimple as pronounced as ever.

 

Betty approves the front page before Veronica decides, per Jughead’s urging, that they need a spa day.

 

“Do they ever really put those cucumbers over your eyes?” he teases, wondering how many face masks Betty has been subjected to since Veronica moved to town. Maybe it’s just him, but putting herb goop on ones face doesn’t seem particularly comfortable or relaxing.

 

“You’d have to come along and find out,” she quips back.

 

“Betts, you know I prefer my cucumbers pickled. On a burger.”

 

“Well, maybe I’ll see you during my shift?”

 

He shouldn’t; the actual front page will take him a while to re-do, and he needs to check in with Joaquin. But she’s genuine, so he says, “Maybe. Save me a piece of pie.”

 

She bites her lip to keep from grinning, and Jughead saves it like a snapshot, a slide for the highlight reel.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Jughead arrives to school the next day before the front doors are unlocked; Principal Weatherbee’s jaw drops when he opens them, like he’s seen a ghost, or a Jones at school well before the bell.

 

The Blue and Gold is distributed to first hour teachers straight from the copier, but Jughead wants to do it himself, lest Weatherbee have qualms with the headline.

 

Forty-five minutes later, he’s got ten copies of his own, and he’s ready and waiting in the newspaper office in his desk chair, feet propped on the desk, paper opened in front of his face. His heart won’t stop pounding like he’s finished a marathon, and it feels like hours pass before the door finally opens.

 

“Jug! You’re already here! Wow, the paper looks great—”

 

Betty’s voice cuts off. She’s reading the headline:

 

**BETTY COOPER: PLEASE SET DOWN YOUR RED PEN AND GO TO PROM WITH ME**

 

“Juggie?”

 

He sets the paper down on the desk. She’s already rustling for her own copy, but Jughead stands and snatches it from her hands. “Can I?”

 

She looks shocked, but not unhappy, so he starts reading.

 

“We all know Betty Cooper. Student council member, former Riverdale Vixen, editor of the Blue and Gold, Pop’s waitress, and by far the very best person you have ever met. At least, she is the best person I’ve ever met. You may not know me quite so well, but that is expected. I spend most of my time hiding out in a little office, the smallest student club, even compared to Dilton Doiley’s G&G group. As the days of high school wane, I cannot help but think of how the small newspaper office is where my fondest memories are. I’ll spare everyone the details, but it’s a charming story. Two childhood friends decide to revive the long dormant student newspaper. Together, they appeal to the administration, search for stories, edit articles. Meanwhile, they fall for each other, or at least, I fall for Betty Cooper, even or maybe especially because she’s the harshest editor of all time. I would apologize for all the other Riverdale High semicolon enthusiasts for her strictness; I wouldn’t be shocked if I’m the only one. I wouldn’t be shocked if you’d already stopped reading at this point. But I would be humbled, Betty Cooper, to partake in the most sacred of high school rituals with you. You are the most sacred of high school experiences to me. Your co-editor, Jughead Jones.”

 

Reading his own words aloud, Jughead realizes for the first time that every single person in school may already be reading this as they arrive. Betty looks shocked, which isn’t helping the churning in his stomach, and frankly, he’s ready to try climbing out the window if she doesn’t say something.

 

He tries something less scripted instead. “I’m so sorry for being such a mopey prick lately and making you pay for it. And I’m sorry for making you feel like you don’t have a say in this, in you and me. I’ve been spiralling about college but I realized that it doesn’t matter because we’re going to figure it out, we’re gonna make this work because this, us, matters most.”

 

Betty’s face hasn’t really changed except maybe her eyes have softened.

 

“Betts, please say something.”

 

She nods, bobbing her head. “Yes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes. To prom. To you. To all of it,” Her face breaks into a smile and Jughead takes it as his cue to lift her into a hug, her legs wrapping around his, and even though he’s not really strong enough to hold her for very long, it doesn’t matter. When the bell rings, neither of them let go.

  
  
  
  


 

 

The next week passes in a blur. There is some last minute drama about the prom theme, though Betty emphasizes that it is worlds better since Cheryl stepped down so she and Veronica don’t glare at each other through the meetings.

 

In a bizarre twist of events, Veronica asks Archie to attend as friends, to which he accepts. Jughead can’t get a read on whether either of them is particularly happy about it, but Betty thinks they’d both rather be uncomfortable and participating in the rite of passage of prom than to sit at home with FOMO. He has to ask what FOMO means. He’s never identified less with a concept.

 

At home, he doesn’t see FP very much—always working or at AA meetings, but it gives him space to start planning how he’s going to sell his dad on New York City. He’s sent emails asking if he can submit his SUNY application to more schools, and he knows his mom has some connections through the service industry who might be able to get him a job in the city.

 

He tries on his old suit jacket and finds that it’s too small, but it turns out that Archie has the same problem. Fred takes them to a tux rental in Centreville on Wednesday. Fred pays for his suit, which Jughead wants to fight, but he knows he will lose. On the way home, Fred asks how FP is doing. Jughead wonders, _shouldn’t you know better than me?_ He hopes Fred has still been seeing his dad at work and hopes that’s not what the question is getting at. So Jughead just nods, says something that’s supposed to sound like a joke about the bills getting paid on time by someone other than himself.

 

On Thursday, he gets a big envelope, but it’s not the one he’s been waiting for. It’s from Syracuse; something his guidance counselor and Joaquin had talked him into. It was before Betty, and the acceptance just feels like the universe is really having a laugh at him, giving him everything he doesn’t want. Jughead stuffs it under his mattress with the other letters. He hears FP come home at one o’clock in the morning and tries not to think the worst—though his dad is showering and out the door when Jug wakes for school, so it can’t have been that bad. There are no bottles or cans in the trash, and he feels guilty for even checking.

 

On Friday, it feels like he hardly sees Betty; she runs around from working the prom ticket table, to a meeting with her guidance counselor, and then to a dressing fitting after school, which sounds so absurd that only Veronica could be behind it. She stamps him with a kiss as she dashes off from lunch, though, and that is enough to get him out of his head about his dad being almost MIA.

 

Jughead wakes to his phone vibrating on the bedside. **_Good morning :) I’m wearing pink, my mom says you have to pick me up, and she’s going to take pictures and judge you if you don’t bring a corsage._ **

 

In any other world, he would be annoyed, but it’s Betty, it’s prom, and he just doesn’t care about anything else right now. He’d circumnavigate the earth if it meant she was happy and Alice was a tiny bit less rabid than usual.

 

He picks up Archie and they drive to the florist, where he manages to find a corsage for both Betty and Veronica while Archie is distracted by playing with the wall covered in different spools of twine. The flowers cost a stupid amount, but Archie flashes Fred’s credit card before Jughead breaks into cold sweats about the forty dollars to his name.

 

The evening with Archie reminds him a little bit of homecoming, years back, his last high school dance. This time, Archie doesn’t give him shit about Betty. They’ve decided to forgo the group dinner scenario. Veronica and Archie did it last year, and he and Betty agreed that they really just wanted to get milkshakes afterward. Fred makes them a pizza, and they play video games for a while with paper towels tucked into the collars of their shirts. Jughead saves the moment as another in his highlight reel.

 

He drives the truck fifty feet and reparks in front of the Coopers. Archie and Veronica agreed to meet at the Five Seasons, where the prom is being hosted, and he’s glad to have this moment alone with Betty. Well, and her mother.

 

But when Jughead rings the doorbell, it’s Betty who answers. Her parents are both in the kitchen, hovering around the phone, ignorant that he’s ogling their daughter in a floor length pink gown. The top half sparkles and cuts deep down her chest and he’s thankful that Hal Cooper is breathing down the phone and not down his neck as he takes her in.

 

“You’re so beautiful.”

 

Betty blushes a little. “You look… wow. I love the suspenders.” She snaps one, playfully, and Jughead realizes he has a very rich fantasy now taking root in the back of his mind.

 

“So, where are we doing the whole picture posing thing?”

 

Betty bites her lip and turns back towards the kitchen. The Coopers seem not to have noticed anything at all.

 

“I’m not sure that’s going to happen.” He can’t tell if she sounds disappointed.

 

“Well, photo or not, I have this, which I think I’m supposed to ceremonially adhere to your wrist.” Jughead shakes the corsage box and Betty giggles.

 

“Very beautiful, Juggie.”

 

“It turns out I am pretty good with flowers.”

 

“Who knew?”

 

He slides it on. She pins his part to the lapel. They are living the stupidest high school ritual and he wouldn’t take back a second of it.

 

“What’s going on in there?” Jughead gestures to the kitchen.

 

Betty purses her lips. “Polly called. She wants to bring the kids and visit for Memorial Day. The original plan was that they would come for our graduation next week, but I don’t think that’s going to happen now.”

 

“Oh, wow. They haven’t heard from her since—”

 

Betty shakes her head and stares for another beat. “We should maybe just go.”

 

“Isn’t your mom going to be mad?”

 

“Yes, but this isn’t about her, is it?”

 

Jughead could argue that any aspect of high school is, in some ways, an opportunity for parents to feel good about themselves as parents. Maybe that’s why he’s hated this kind of thing all his life.

 

“You’re right. I mean, I don’t think I’m going to need a photo to remember this. You’re pretty impressionable.”

 

“Back at you, Jughead Jones.”

  
  
  
  


 

 

For all the drama, the prom theme seems, at least to Jughead, relatively indiscernible from any other dance theme he’s ever seen. He doesn’t bring it up; he just likes feeling the sparkly edge of Betty’s bodice—that’s what she called it in the truck, and he recalls having read the word many times without ever knowing its meaning.  

 

Veronica finds them, landing upon them with the immediacy of a fly to honey, and drags them from place to place until Jughead does what Betty is too nice for, and pleads her to leave them alone.

 

For so much hype, Jughead is surprised that no one seems to be doing much. Archie and Veronica cavort separately around the room, only using each other as landing points to remind everyone that they are civil with one another and they didn’t come alone. There is a photo booth that seems silly, knowing how many photos (most) people’s parents have already taken. There are tables, as if there is a dinner, but no food, which just seems deceptive to someone like him. The dance floor isn’t particularly active yet; the DJ seems to still be setting up.

 

For the most part, he watches Betty lead them around with the natural intuition one must develop after attending so many high school dances. He’s not nervous like he was years ago at homecoming. Instead, he enjoys the looks they get together, feeling proud to show that his dorky newspaper stunt paid off.

 

They finally sit down, clutching punch poured by their physics teacher. “This is nice.” He means it earnestly, but Betty raises her eyebrows at him.

 

“I don’t really know what I expected,” she sighs. “It’s just like any other dance only the girls dress’ are poofier.”

 

“Hey, I really, really like your poofy dress. You look like a princess. It’s amazing.”

 

She kisses him on the cheek, and Jughead thinks he could endure a lot more of this.

 

“You’re right. My dress is awesome. And I’m with you. I’m not sure what else could make this night for me.”

 

He leans in, conspiratorial. “What’s actually your checklist for the evening, Betts? Let’s make it happen.”

 

Betty thinks for a minute. “Okay. I want to figure out where the liquor is to spike these drinks.”

 

Jughead laughs. “I know Archie slipped some vodka into his jacket so you might not need to go far for that.”

 

“I want to dance, at least twice.”

 

“Okay, but something slow. I’m delicate.” Betty rolls her eyes, but he knows she doesn’t mind.

 

“And I want to find a dark corner to make out with my boyfriend.”

 

She’s never called him her boyfriend and it does something in the pit of his stomach. He likes it a lot. “That I can easily oblige, Betts.  

 

The music starts—a song he knows and actually likes, but far too intense. Betty announces that she’s going to try to complete mission number one. Jughead decides to wait on the bench, but then he gets an idea, and approaches the DJ booth with his best ‘hey, man’ and hopes for the best.

 

Veronica finds him on the way back to his seat.

 

“Listen, Jug, I have a little something for you and Betty.” She slips a pair of hotel key cards into his hand.

 

“What the fuck is this?”

 

“A room, dummy.”

 

Jughead doesn’t know what a sane reaction might be to this situation.

 

“How did you even get these? Isn’t it illegal to—”

 

“My mother is Hermione Lodge, Jughead. She owns this hotel. I just wanted to do something. I’m not going to get my magical prom night, and that’s okay. But you two deserve it, after everything. I’m not saying you need to fuck each other’s brains out or—”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m taking them, please stop talking.”

 

Veronica just smiles devilishly, and he sighs. “Thanks, I guess.” He shoves the key cards deep in his pocket and his face is probably flushing magenta and he’s never adored and hated anyone quite as much as Veronica Lodge, but he can’t pretend that her generosity isn’t well-intended. And, though he would never admit it to Veronica, he’s feeling pretty good about where the night is headed.

 

“Don’t worry about being home by morning. I’ve arranged an alibi in advance.” She smirks and turns to leave. “Oh, and be safe, okay? Wrap it up and all that.” Veronica smirks and Jughead thinks he would rather fulfill a murder-suicide pact with Veronica than hear her say _wrap it up_ ever again.  

 

He’s not sure if he’s successfully washed the look off his face before Betty returns, grinning victoriously.

 

“Found your booze, your highness?”

 

“Shhhh,” Betty whispers dramatically, taking a sip. “Honestly, I don’t understand the appeal. Vodka tastes awful. I had to get more punch to cover the taste.”

 

“See, it’s good that you learn these lessons before college. This is what the high school experience ought to educate us towards.”

 

Betty takes another drink, shuddering again at the taste.

 

“You also don’t have to drink it, Betts.” He can’t help the protective color to his tone, and he feels relieved when she pours the remains into a potted palm next to their bench.

 

“Alright, goal one is complete. Do we wait for a good song or skip right on to goal three?” She waggles her eyebrows goofily.

 

“The drink hath made thee bold, your highness.” He thinks of the keycards in his pocket.

 

Then the first few notes of Book of Love play, and Betty is already gaping at him. “Jughead Jones, are you behind this?”

 

He shrugs. “The DJ seemed like the reasonable sort.”

 

They dance on a much emptier floor, most students taking advantage of the slow song to rest, or maybe just not knowing the song. He holds her in the way he wanted to for so many hours sitting in Pop’s, waiting for her shift to end, waiting for her anger to abate. It feels like the right way for the story to end. The lyrics convey all the love he has stored up for her, all the love he can’t find a way to express out loud. She folds perfectly into his chest, and he knows that even though this was already their song, he’s just made it official. No matter what, wherever they hear it, they will think of each other, of this moment, of the last moment, or maybe of a moment they haven’t even had yet.

 

When the song ends, morphing into a heavy beat that has couples rushing the floor once again, Betty looks a little dazed.

 

“Do you want to find some place a little quieter?”

 

She nods, and Jughead leads her back to their bench, grabs Betty’s clutch and they snake through a side entrance to the hotel ballroom to a stairwell. Betty is a little breathless, whispering with questions about where they’re going, but he shushes her until they’ve reached the top floor and he’s trying the key in room thirteen.

 

“Jug, what are you doing?”

 

“It’s not a dark corner, and if that’s what you would prefer…”

 

Betty gapes at the room, and turns back to him. “Did you pay for this?”

 

Jughead shakes his head, feeling weird to have brought her up here all of a sudden, how presumptive it all feels. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be like, a prom move.”

 

Betty shakes her head. “No, no, it’s… perfect. I just… shouldn’t we talk about the logistics?”

 

Jughead flinches. “Logistics?”

 

“Like the whole college thing and where you’re going to live and—”

 

“Betty.” Jughead crosses to her, taking her in his arms. “Let’s just have prom night right now.”

 

The worry melts from her expression and she bites her lower lip. Jughead wants to do the same thing. Betty smirks as she asks, “How much prom night are you thinking?”

“As much prom night as you want, Betts.”

 

Betty steps out of his arms and reaches behind her back, unzipping her dress slowly.

 

“Wait, wait. Turn around.” Jughead’s voice sounds a little strangled. She complies, and he finishes unzipping the bodice, pressing kisses along her shoulders as he moves the straps off.

 

From there, their movements are a hungry yet slow series of kisses and undressing, the absolute high of her skin bare against his, the progression from a pile of formalwear carnage to untucking the bed sheets. He cannot believe how soft Betty is: her hair, the skin on her collarbone, her bare chest flush against his.

 

When he slips his hand into her underwear, stroking her slowly in the way that makes her breath catch, Betty moans into his mouth, building at his touch.

 

“Jug, I want all of you.” Her eyes are open, pleading, and he can’t find words for anything, even the practical questions.

 

“There are condoms in my purse.”

 

“Are you sure?” He ticks a tendril of her hair behind her ear.

 

“I’m sure of you. Are you?”

 

Jughead answers by scrambling for her clutch at the base of the bed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They sleep curled together; Betty in his undershirt, the smell of her shampoo and the faint musk of sex grounding his disbelief.

 

Jughead wakes while Betty is still sound asleep, so he tries not to move while he looks at her, daring to only blink slowly. Somehow, she senses him and stirs.

 

Betty wriggles and presses even closer to him, and Jughead cannot imagine what it could be like to feel this every morning. He wants to say so aloud, but he’s already flooded with the particulars of how he’ll make that future happen, whatever he needs to do.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Betty murmurs.

 

Jughead turns to her, weaving a handful of hair through his fingers. “I’m thinking about how to pitch the whole going-to-New-York thing to my dad. How to make sure he’s going to be stable and all that.”

 

Betty cups the side of his face. “Of course you are. That’s what I lo—”

 

Jughead’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s Joaquin, so Jughead doesn’t answer. He’ll be home far too soon for his own liking.

 

“What were you saying?” He knows Betty can hear his heartbeat race, but he wants to hear her say it—he always imagined that he would say it first.

 

But she just smiles softly. “I know last night wasn’t, like _perfect_ or anything, but it also was. Because it was you.”

 

“Betts, I don’t know what your definition of perfect is, but it was perfect to me. Do you feel okay?” He’s thinking of the twitch of her scrunched eyes as he slowly sank into her, the way she nodded slowly to encourage him, the deep breaths that eventually became sighs when he touched her.

 

“I feel perfect,” she murmurs into his neck.

 

His phone buzzes again with a voicemail. Betty’s eyes dart to the nightstand, so he reassures, “I’m going to work it all out with my dad today, get him on board as much as I can.”

 

Betty smiles, stamping a quick kiss on his lips. “So I’ll see you Monday? At the barbecue? You can meet the twins and give moral support through a really weird Cooper/Blossom holiday event? I think the Andrews’ are coming, too…”  

 

Jughead interrupts Betty with another kiss, deep and slow, more like a pact than an agreement. “I’ll be there.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

There are four missed calls from Joaquin by the time he reaches the trailer. FP isn’t there, which seems normal at this point, but it’s a Saturday, and his dad hasn’t been working weekends.

 

Joaquin opens his trailer mid-knock. “Did you get my message?”

 

His friend is sweating, holding a half empty backpack stuffed with clothes. Jughead shakes his head, ready to ask about the bag, but Joaquin’s voice cracks with the news. “FP didn’t come home last night.”

 

Jughead feels like he is falling from the clouds onto the harsh gravel of Sunnyside Trailer Park. It’s his first day back in Riverdale all over again; there is nowhere and everywhere FP could be. There were no signs this time. The trailer is clean, the trash empty of evidence, but now Jughead’s imagination colors in the gaps. Maybe FP hasn’t really been sleeping. Not really going to meetings. Taking out the bottles and cans, hiding them amongst the generous population of beer and liquor in the Sunnyside recycling dumpster.

 

They drive around, Joaquin poking his head into the Wyrm, then the bars in Centreville, Seaside, and then back through Greendale. They find him there; the manager lets Jughead in to help drag FP out at Joaquin’s plea: we need to get him out before word spreads to Penny. _If it hasn’t already,_ Jughead thinks.

 

FP is in deep, past the angry, fist flinging stage of drunkenness that Jughead dreads to the sleepy, sloppy stage. They prop him up in the back of the truck.

 

“What now?” Jughead folds in half over the steering wheel.

 

“We’ve got to sober him up. Do you know his sponsor?”

 

Jughead shrugs. “No. I know his parole officer, but… fuck. It’s Sunday.”

 

“Fuck. He has a parole visit in the morning doesn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, fuck. We’ve got to sober him up.”

 

Back at the trailer, they carry his dad’s dead weight into the shower. Jughead takes over; wakes up his dad with the water, coaching him to wash up, reminding him about the meeting. It’s never going to work, and Jughead is miles from thinking about New York or Betty or anything except whether his dad will be back in jail before the end of the weekend. The judge had ruled two years parole and sobriety—which seems insane and draconian for a single member of the judicial system to make that level of ruling, but he knows from growing up in Sunnyside that stuff like that happens all the time.

 

Jughead helps FP into clean clothes and to bed. Sleeping can’t hurt—there is nothing to do but wait and divert.

 

Joaquin is on the phone in the living room, and just from his tone of voice, Jughead’s blood runs cold. He’s talking to Penny.

 

“Fuck off. You know that getting the authorities involved is only going to hurt you, too.”

 

The call ends with Joaquin chucking the phone at the couch, then sinking down into the cushions, face in hands. “We need to go.”

 

Jughead’s pulse spikes at the thought, knowing what Joaquin means by _go._

 

“My aunt in Syracuse, where my mom is? She can help us. She got my mom a job. She can help FP, too. Get us some part time gigs. I mean, I know the whole college thing is still kind of up in the air there…”

 

Joaquin is rambling, panicked, and Jughead just needs a moment of quiet to think. On one hand, he knows he cannot leave Betty. On the other, he thinks that they would plead with the parole officer in the morning to transfer FP to another county. They could point them towards Penny, get her out of their hair for good, maybe. But they would have to go.

 

He creeps into the bedroom and pinches the orange folder from under the mattress. Back in the light of the kitchen, he flips to the acceptance letter and gets stuck on the words he hadn’t noticed before. _“In light of your strong academic record and financial hardship, we are pleased to offer you a full tuition scholarship.”_

 

Jughead doesn’t know how to describe the simultaneous sinking and soaring sensation coursing through him. They can leave—his dad will be better off, certainly. His college question would be answered. But Betty may never forgive him for this. He may never forgive himself for leaving her.  

 

He feels Joaquin behind him. “Holy _shit,_ Jug! Why didn’t you tell me? This is it.”

 

Jughead knows he’s right. This is it. This is the chance to get his father out of his cycle, even if there are no guarantees. To make him stay, to watch him go back to jail or worse, back into Penny’s manipulative clutches. And Betty will understand, maybe.

 

“We can leave tonight. Blow out of here. How fast can you pack?”

 

Jughead shakes his head. “Not tonight. We gotta go to the parole meeting. Do this right, or else we’ll just be running from someone else. But you can leave tonight. We’ll be right behind you.” He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking, which was that he cannot leave Betty without an explanation.

 

Joaquin claps him on the back. “Hey, I know this sucks. I know you have a lot more people here than me. That you wanted to graduate and have time with your friends and, you know, the girl.”

 

Jughead knows that Joaquin knows Betty’s name but he’s grateful that he doesn’t use it. He’s not sure he could hear it right now without bursting into tears. So he just nods.

 

“Send me the address,” he croaks, and soon enough, Joaquin is out the door. His engine roars out of the trailer park while Jughead is still staring out the window, trying to just keep breathing.  

  
  
  
  


 

 

The parole meeting goes more smoothly than Jughead expects. FP looks kind of terrible, but he plays it off with bring up early and compensates with his earnestness about a new opportunity. No need to even transfer him out of state, he jokes, cinch for bureaucracy.

 

Jughead stands on the porch, wringing his beanie in his hands, upset that the one thing that usually gives him comfort has nothing for him right now. The truck is packed, but he and FP will drive away together, not him and Betty.

 

They’ve already called Fred and Archie; they’ve already come by to offer a little cash and wrap them in breathless hugs. Archie asks Jughead about Betty, and Jughead has to scrunch his eyes closed to keep from crying.

 

The ride to Pickens Park is silent; his dad knows better than to try and soothe him with something horribly trite, at least. Jughead sees Betty pacing near the parking lot, waiting for him, but not knowing what she’s about to hear.

 

He climbs out and walks from a block away so she doesn’t have to see the truck right away.

 

“Jug!”

 

God, her voice is a dagger in his heart. He questions if he can do this, if he shouldn’t turn and run right now, before she says what he thinks she murmured while they fell asleep, limbs pretzeled together. He looks up from his feet, and seeing her delivers another physical blow. Her hair is down, her smile so soft, wearing a purple sundress with tiny straps tied over her shoulders that he wants to hold her in, that he wants to slip off her body.

 

“ _Finally_ , you’re here. Archie and Fred are running late and my dad and Cliff Blossom are trying to one up each over the griddle and Penelope and my mom are jumping down each other’s throats and if they don’t stop competing over giving Polly child-rearing advice, I’m going to puke....”

 

Jughead waits for the moment she stops, but when she does, when she takes him in, when she sees the truck running in the parking lot, her expression is caught with confusion. He thinks maybe he’s the one who could puke.

 

“I have to go.” _Fuck,_ he needs his voice to stop shaking.

 

“Where? What’s up?” Betty’s brow creases, but he can tell she isn’t putting it all together.  The motorcycle in the truck bed. The packs.

 

“My dad relapsed last night.”

 

“Oh my god, Jug, is he okay? Is that him?”

 

He nods, stepping back in case she tries to touch him when he isn’t ready, when he might fall apart if her hand so much as brushes his arm.

 

“Penny found out. So we need to act fast. She’s trying to hold it over him, call his parole officer—”

 

“ _What?_ Can she even do that? He’s not… that doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

Jughead’s throat tightens so much he can barely speak. “She could rat on me, on Joaquin. She has evidence. And my dad could go back to jail.” It’s mostly true, but unlikely. But he can’t bear to say that he had the freedom to choose between her and FP, and he chose someone who had only failed him over someone who never had.

 

“Then you can’t _run away,_ that’s insane! We have to fight this! Fight her!”

 

He loves her, loves that she would never let him go this easily, but he can feel her hold catching him and he has to pull himself back. End it. Get back to the car.  

 

“Betty… we can’t take the chance. Joaquin’s aunt can get my dad and Joaquin a job in Syracuse. He can start over, out of Riverdale.”

 

“But what about _you,_ Jug? What about college? What about… us?” Her voice breaks on the last word, like she thought it was stronger, like it broke and she never realized it was fragile in the first place.

 

“I got into Syracuse. They gave me a full scholarship. I never told you because… I wasn’t going to take it. But now… my dad needs me.”

 

Betty’s chest starts to heave, her breath moving too fast, and he reaches out to take her hands, to hold the pad of her palms so that if she digs, she’ll hurt him instead.

 

“I hate it, but I can’t leave him, Betts.”

 

“He’ll—” she chokes over the ridge of a sob, and either she stops herself, or she can’t continue. “I’m sorry,” she manages. “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand last time, and I want to understand right now, but there has to be something else we can do.”

 

“I don’t want this.” Jughead realizes he’s crying, too,

 

“Then don’t go,” she blubbers. He has to go now, or he won’t—if she asks once more, he’ll let FP drive into the afternoon and meet whatever destiny a lack of supervision, of support begets.   

 

So he crushes her into his arms and holds her for the last time, hoping to god that somehow it’s not actually the last time. That there is something for them, a someday beyond the mess before them. He breathes in her hair.

 

He can’t say the only thing on his mind because she’ll say it back. So he mumbles something else with the same intensity, so maybe she’ll know anyway.

 

“Take care, Betty.”

 

On the way to the truck, he pulls out his phone and texts Archie: _Come get Betty, she needs to be with someone right now._

 

FP drives them out of Riverdale, past the sign, past the swimming hole that he and Archie would dunk each other in as kids, past the turn off where he and Betty had gone so many times. His eyes blur, and he stares out the window letting the blues and greens blend together like a watercolor. He’s never had faith in anything—wasn’t raised with starched Sunday school shirts and firmly combed hair. But even more than that, he never understood why people would put so much energy into something uncertain, implausible.

 

But now, he understands that faith isn’t about believing in something you hope to be true, despite a lack of evidence or likelihood. It is believing in something because without it, the universe as you know it may not hold. Because you need to believe it to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

 

The tears welling in his eyes spill over. Jughead Jones has faith in exactly one thing: their story is not over.

  


 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, i love you, your love and comments have kept me and this story alive. i would greatly appreciate your thoughts and feeling on this chapter if you have a moment to leave me a comment <3


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